


Interpretive Hearts

by Crimson1



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Day At The Beach, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Physical Therapy, sort of new life at the beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson1/pseuds/Crimson1
Summary: Leonard Snart has been forced into early retirement as a dance choreographer after too many hip injuries and recent hip replacement surgery. He’s moved into his beach house from the city to rest and relax and figure out where to go from here as he begins his physical therapy. While he hates to admit it, he’s lonely and completely unsure of what to do next.Enter Barry Allen, Len’s gorgeous, charming young neighbor, who is far too sexy to be anything but distracting and keeps crossing Len’s path.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Red Harlequin for coming up with the title, which is AMAZING and so perfect. 
> 
> I don't know where this idea came from just from 'Day at the Beach' as a prompt, but I WILL be returning to finish where this story leaves off after I am done with Vertigo, because I know everything that happens next. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Len hated the beach. The only reason he had a beach house was because it was private, away from the city, and the deal had been fantastic when he bought it. He didn’t do water or sun or sand. Though he didn’t mind the sitting in the shade under a large umbrella part, reading a good book on a calm day in peace and quiet.

That would have worked out much better if the house next door that had been empty for _years_ wasn’t suddenly occupied by a bunch of twenty-somethings playing volleyball.

Not that they were being excessively loud or rowdy, but Len wanted the beach to himself his first full day moved in for good from the city. At least Mrs. Thompkins on the other side had the decency to only use her beach house in December.

Len took a breath, rereading the same page for the fifth time, but whenever he started to digest it, a laugh or shout or groan as someone hit the sand from a rough leap for the ball pulled him right out again. It was a big area of the beach, but sound still carried.

Maybe today wasn’t the day to be reading outdoors. Those kids were probably college age enjoying the house for the weekend from one of their mommies and daddies. Len could read tomorrow. Or inside. He still had unpacking to do that he'd been putting off, as if finishing the last few boxes would put a stamp of finality on his situation.

Shifting once again in his beach chair, he winced. He needed to get a new one with more padding or a different angle to accommodate his hip. The surgery was healing well, but if he did even one thing wrong, it could mean complications or an infection. It was bad enough he couldn’t dance anymore.

Spending even one night of recovery at his apartment had only proven what he already knew. If he had to be forced into early retirement, then he also had to get out of the city or he’d lose his mind.

“Nora, get back here!”

Not that those kids were helping any. Len made a concerted effort to block everything out and tried reading that same page again.

When a volleyball rolled into view in front of his chair.

“Nora!”

Followed by an explosion of sand coating his legs as a small white dog pounced on the ball like a martyr throwing themselves on a bomb.

“ _Nora_. I am so sorry.”

The owner of the dog, the voice, and presumably the volleyball jogged into view where Len had been trying to hide beneath his umbrella. One of the kids, no doubt, who Len was about to lay into no matter how much this wasn’t anyone's fault, when he looked up at the young man and…

Shit.

Over six feet tall, long, lean, swimmer’s build, all very much on display since he was only wearing swim trunks. He was young but older than college age, with light facial hair, messy brunette hair, and a dazzling smile.

“Hi, I’m Barry.” He hoisted his dog into one arm while reaching over Len’s beach chair with the other. He had a firm grip too, great hands.

 _Shit_.

“Barry Allen. I moved in a few months ago. You just got in yesterday, right?”

A few months ago, which meant he was staying.

 _Fuck_.

“Leonard Snart. pleasure to meet you.” Len fixed his face into as tight and uncordial an expression as he could, because he did not need some gorgeous, young beach bunny imposing on his life right now. Turning to the side in his chair, he shook the sand from his legs.

“I am so sorry about that,” Barry said. “Nora just got excited when the ball took off.”

Why wasn’t he picking up the ball now and going away? Len could see his tan line with how his shorts rode too low after chasing the furball.  

Meanwhile, _Nora_ wriggled in his arms and licked at his neck with unabashed joy. Len could understand the inclination, but he really did not need this.

“Mrs. Thompkins said you’re a dancer,” Barry said, holding firm as the good neighbor.

 _Urg_.  

“Former.” Len dumped the sand out of his book.

“Right. Choreographer now?”

“Also former.”

“Oh.” Barry fidgeted, maybe finally picking up on Len’s lack of engagement. “Needed a change of pace?”

Or not.

“The pace changed for me.” Len stood with a grimace, hating how obvious it made his injury, but it did the job of drawing Barry’s attention. “I’d prefer to keep dancing. My body disagrees.”

“Oh…” A somber nod was Barry’s response, which Len _hated_. Pity was always worse than ignorance, especially from someone young and virile. “Well it is a body worth listening to.”

Len froze—just in time to see Barry’s eyed widen.

“I did not just say that. Please don’t hold it against me for any future friendship. I’m not actually that lame. I just meant…our bodies tend to know what’s best for us.”

“And you’re what, a yoga instructor?” That would be so typical.

“Something like that,” Barry chuckled. “Actually, I’m—

“Barry!” a female voice snapped his attention back to his friends.

“Right. Sorry, better get going.” Finally, he bent to retrieve the volleyball, still holding Nora with his other arm, and flashed Len a final smile. “It was nice to meet you, Leonard.”

“Len,” Len said, because of course he felt compelled to correct him.

“Nice to meet you, Len,” Barry smiled wider, his eyes flicking down at the sand then back up like a bashful flutter before he was gone.

Len grabbed his book and shuffled inside, cursing the entire way.

XXXXX

“Because I said I’m fine,” Len growled into his cell phone.

If anyone was going to call like a doting parent he thought it would be his mother or his sister, not his best friend.

“I’m only sayin', Lenny, if you need company—"

“I just got here. I haven’t had time to feel lonely.” Len cringed as he set a kettle of water on the stove; he didn’t want Mick thinking he _would_ get lonely just because everyone he knew and loved was still in the city.

“Lisa had this idea—"

“I don’t even want to know—"

“—about you getting a pet or somethin’.”

“A pet?” Len leaned against the kitchen island, thinking of _Nora_ , the curly white menace from earlier. “You know I hate dogs.”

“No one hates dogs, you just don’t want the work.”

“Same thing.”

“Then get a cat. They take care of themselves most the time.”

“Well…” Len did like cats but hadn’t had one since he was a kid. His apartment hadn’t allowed pets. He supposed it wouldn’t be terrible to have another heartbeat in the house. “How would I even go about that out here? No pet stores. The humane shelter?”

“I’ll give ya one better. Your sis already did the research.”

Of course she had; Lisa never could resist meddling.

“There's a foster program out that way. Folks watch pets til they find a permanent home, then bring ‘em right to your door. If it’s not a good match, they come back for it. Easy.”

That sounded reasonable, and it would keep Lisa and Mick off his back. “Fine, have her send me the info, and I’ll think about it.”

“How else ya doin', buddy?” Mick asked.

“Sore.” Len rubbed his hip. It was time for more pain meds, but he hated taking them. He just wanted to get back to equilibrium. He refused to use the cane they’d given him except for when he first woke up in the morning. “But I’m fine, really. Just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do next.”

“Hey, no brooding the first couple weeks. Only vacation.”

If this was a vacation, it wouldn’t hurt so much—physically or otherwise. “That would be easier if I didn’t start physical therapy next week.”

“Okay, a week’s worth of vacation. Then you can brood.”

Len snorted. Mick was a good friend. He had an imposing presence as a large muscly type, but he was one of the best playwrights Len had ever met and truly kind-hearted. He always kept to smaller theaters though, just enough to be known and comfortable—and happy with his husband of fifteen years.

Ray was a good friend too, though a little too _motherly_ , for lack of a better word. He was an engineer, a wealthy one, yet he packed Mick's lunch for him every day. Neither of them could ever understand what it was like to feel as lonely as Len did sometimes.

“I gotta go, Mick. All this exciting relaxing ahead, you know. No brooding, I promise.” The kettle was starting its war cry. Now that it was evening and Barry and his friends had gone inside, Len thought he’d give reading on the beach another shot with a hot cup of tea.

“Alright, Lenny. You be good, brother.”

“You too.”

The waves were calm when Len got outside, just that low, soothing whoosh. He sipped his tea, settled in comfortably, and got through several chapters without realizing how late it was until he startled awake.

Hibiscus tea was the kind he preferred before _bed_ , which was probably why he’d fallen asleep.

Waking with a start, chin on his chest, book in his lap, Len heard the faint sounds of laughter and music in the distance with a smoky scent in the air. Barry and his friends must be having a bonfire. Len had gotten some reading in, but now he needed to sleep for real. And pee. And—

“Ah!” he gasped when he tried to sit up.

He hadn’t taken his pain meds before going outside only to fall asleep in his less than supportive beach chair and now his hip was killing him.

“Len?”

Oh no.

“Hey, I didn’t realize you were still out here, I was just coming to knock on your door.” Barry appeared from around the umbrella, without the dog or volleyball but still in trunks with a loose button up beach shirt covered in palm fronds. “We can turn the music down if—are you _okay_?” He noticed the way Len clutched both his hip and one arm of the beach chair.

“I…” Len could drop dead any time now. But he also couldn’t get up. “I forgot to take my pain medication and now it hurts too much to move.”

“How long have you been there?” Barry’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “That chair’s not at all conducive for—"

“—hip issues, especially after surgery, I know. I…fell asleep.” Because Len was an old man compared to this kid.

A warm smile lit up Barry’s face. “Surgery, huh? I was going to offer you a drink, see if you wanted to join us, but I guess I have to offer something else.” He came around the side of Len’s chair and squatted down.

“What are you doing?” Len leaned away from him.

“Getting you out of that chair. Now hang onto your book.”

“Wait—”

But Barry’s arms were already scooping underneath him, giving an impressive heft of strength considering they weren’t that different in size, and lifting Len without causing a spike of pain, only a mild hiss.

“I got you. Is the door unlocked?” Barry asked as he started for the house. Len’s chair was setup close to the porch, but there was no way Barry’s friends weren't seeing this if they were looking.

“Yes,” Len said, feeling utterly humiliated—and a little turned on by Barry's proximity and firmness and beachy smell, which was just insult to injury when he had to pee. Why did Barry have to be so…all of this?

It was a sliding door, but only the screen door was closed, easy enough for Barry to push aside while carrying Len. “Sofa or bedroom?”

“ _Sofa_ ,” Len said without hesitation. He drew the line at letting this gorgeous man into his bedroom the first day they met.

Thankfully, the sofa was close, large and comfortable, and Len felt instantly at ease once Barry set him down.

“Are those your pills?” Barry walked to the kitchen island.

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll get you some water. You should wait ten or fifteen minutes before you move, let them kick in and take it slow. I can wait around if you—”

“No,” Len said a little harried, not meaning to be rude, but he didn’t like being taken care of, especially by a beautiful stranger who only reminded him of what he’d lost. “I appreciate the offer and the…lift, but I’ll be fine.”

“What are neighbors for?” Barry said as he came back with a glass of water from the tap and the bottle of pills. “Though I guess I can’t offer you that drink anymore.”

Len downed the maximum dose with a thick swallow. “Not much of a drinker anyway. And the music is fine. I’ll be up for a while now. My own fault.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Barry crouched beside him again to be on his level, such ease to the movement like it was no effort at all. Len missed that. “How long ago was the surgery?”

“Less than a week.”

“You’re a rock star then. Nothing to be ashamed of. But try to remember to take your pills and—"

“A new chair is already on its way. Geriatric approved,” Len said with a sneer.

Barry laughed. “I hardly think you qualify. What are you, thirty-five?”

Oh, he was a flatterer. Len could add about a decade to that. “And are you the baby-faced thirty-five-year-old type yourself or a bearded twenty-three?” _Please don’t actually be college age_ , not that Len should care.

“More somewhere in between,” Barry said cryptically.

Late 20s then, which wasn’t terribly young. Still too young for Len.

Barry grabbed a cell phone out of his pocket, startled by it vibrating. His face flushed with color when he read the text.

“Something funny?” Len asked.

“Oh, uhh…one of my friends making a bad joke, wondering where I went.”

“How bad a joke?”

Barry’s smile turned embarrassed after he shot a text back. “He asked if I’d decided to roleplay Florence Nightingale and sleep here tonight.”

Len laughed before he could stop himself. “And how’d you respond?”

“I said, yep, so if you could take care of breakfast for everyone tomorrow, that would be great.”

A fuller laugh left Len, and Barry joined him, so Len didn’t try to squelch it. “It was a rather dramatic exit we made. When you regale your friends with the tale, please make the injury something cooler than years of dance.”

“Black ops, got it.” Barry nodded. “But the details are classified.”

Damn it, why did he have to be so charming?

“I should… But hey, do you have your cell phone on you?” Barry asked as he stood.

“Yes.” Len pulled it from his pocket, confused, and Barry plucked it from his fingers. He entered a number.

“There, now you can call me if you ever…”

“Fall down and can’t get up?”

That dimpled grin was the kind Len could get lost in. “If that’s the only reason you can think of.”

 _Fuck_ , why was he flirting? Len was a train wreck and went entirely blank for what to say, which prompted Barry to look away with that bashful glance at the floor then back at Len far too attractively.

“See you later, Len.”

“Y-yeah. Thanks.”

Once Barry was out the door, Len fell back into the cushions with a groan. At least he had his book, because as much as he still had to pee, he wasn't getting up from the sofa anytime soon.

He also had no idea what page he’d left off on.

XXXXX

The next morning, Len decided he would definitely _not_ call Barry unless there was an emergency. He didn’t need complications. He was terrible company anyway. He’d only end up alienating Barry, and he didn’t want his neighbor to hate him.

Besides, it’s not like they could do anything _fun_ , not full range types of fun, if that’s what Barry was interested in, until Len had undergone a few months of physical therapy. He could still _attend_ to himself as needed, and having that pretty face between his thighs wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world…

Nope. Len wasn’t going to think about it. _Fun_ aside, if Barry was looking for more, Len would be an even bigger disappointment. And he’d been enough of a disappointment to everyone and everything else in his life lately.

A cat wouldn’t judge him at least. A cat would just be there to snuggle and keep him company while requiring minimal effort. He'd only need to feed it, give it water, get one of those automatic litter pans so he didn’t have to bend over to clean it. Easy.

His sister’s email about getting a pet was far too chipper though. Lisa wasn’t chipper. It meant she was trying too hard and assumed he was miserable. He _was_ , but he couldn’t admit that. So, although he did click the link to the adoption agency, his response to her email was that he was only doing it so she would have someone to talk to when she visited.

The middle finger emoji she replied with was much more her style.

Len spent a good portion of the next few days scouring for cats on the website that were being boarded near him and that had traits he could relate to. He didn’t want one that was best with multiple pets. He didn’t want a kitten. He didn’t want one too fluffy that would infest his home with hair and require constant brushing. Just a calm, single-pet family, adult cat.

Then he found him, and he was _beautiful_. Unique as a snowshoe breed, thick fur but not overly long like a Persian, big blue eyes, three years old, calm and docile as an old man. Perfect.

Except for his name— _Smudge_. Len would change that the second he got him.

Quickly selecting the cat and filling out the form before anyone could snatch him, Len noticed that the boarder address was very similar to his own. It had to be someone on his same block, he’d just never figured out how the numbers lined up out here.

He paid the fees for the transaction, set a time for delivery, and waited for a response.

_This is great, Len! I’ll bring Smudge by this afternoon._

A little informal in Len’s mind—his personal information always said Leonard, after all—but what did he care. It’s not like he’d have to spend time with the boarder.

When the knock came hours later, he almost slammed his head against the front door after looking through the peephole.

“Barry?” he said, at first surprised—and then he saw the pet carrier.

_Seriously?_

“I am so glad you’re taking Smudge.” Barry glowed, looking even more striking than he had the day they met, in jeans and a maroon Henley. “He’s a great sleeping buddy, just the sweetest. Even Nora adores him, but everyone always wants kittens.”

Why was this happening? Barry must think Len did this on purpose to see him again.

“Len?”

Right. Normal human interaction required. Len opened the door wider to let Barry in. “So this is what you do? Board cats and dogs? How many more do you have over there?”

“Only Nora right now,” Barry said with a chuckle, “and she’s mine. I started out fostering her but couldn’t let her go. I try to have only one or two other animals at any given time. But that’s on the side. By day, I’m—”

His cell phone went off, a call with the ringtone “Miss Independent,” which made his cheeks flush as he set down the carrier.

“Uh, I did _not_ choose that ringtone. It’s my sister, sorry.”

“I can relate.” Len waved him away.

“This is Smudge’s current food and treats.” He set down a plastic bag. “Just open the carrier and let him come out on his own time. I’ll stop by later to see how you two are getting along.” Before Len could refute that, Barry answered the call and turned to exit. “Hey, Iris, what’s up?”

“Great,” Len huffed, closing the door behind him and turning to face the carrier. He sluggishly got down on his knees to open the latch rather than bend, which was what he was supposed to do, but it still made him feel silly and incapable.

Smudge didn’t move.

“I don’t bite, I promise,” Len said as he carefully sat, but the beautiful feline remained tense and stationary. “I also can’t run very fast so I can hardly chase you. No? New environment, I get it. I realize I don’t come across as very personable. There’s a reason all my past relationships ended badly and I don’t have many friends, but I’ve been told my worst side was my demanding nature on the job, and I can’t exactly berate _you_ for a sloppy pas de bourrée.”

Smudge didn’t even tilt his head to look at Len.  

“Still nothing, huh? I thought cats, being assholes themselves, didn’t mind fellow assholes. You too good for me, _Smudge_? We really need to do something about that name… Come on.” Slowly, Len grabbed the cat to pull him from the carrier, discovering stiff limbs but not too much resistance, and lifted him into a baby hold.

He really was beautiful. And soft.

“There now. I’m not so bad, am I?”

Smudge blinked at him, then just as Len attempted to stroke his chin, he hissed, squirmed to get free, and darted off into the house, leaving Len thankfully unscratched but very much alone.  

Wonderful.

The next few hours were spent calling for Smudge, leaving out food as incentive that occasionally would magically disappear, but still no cat. Even the litter box Len setup in the laundry room had been used. How was a twelve-pound cat such a ninja? Maybe because Len moved slower than he used to.

Being crouched down on all fours calling for Smudge beneath the sofa—if he was even under there—was probably why he didn’t hear the door.

“Are you supposed to be in positions like that?” Barry’s voice caused him to smack his head against the bottom of the sofa. “Oh _shit_ , sorry.”

Len refrained from growling as he sat back on his heels and tried not to glare at Barry, who was muffling chuckles behind his hand and still looked gorgeous.

“Really sorry. I uhh…let myself in.”

“I noticed.”

“You didn’t wait for Smudge to come out on his own, did you?”

Even what was supposed to be the sweetest cat in existence had rejected Len. “I don’t suppose you have any bright ideas for finding him,” he said—just as Smudge jumped onto the coffee table, happily rubbing into Barry’s hand when he reached for him. Len turned his glare onto the cat. “You do remember that _he’s_ the one who abandoned you here.”

“Len,” Barry laughed. “He can sense you’re irritated. You just need to stay calm.”

“I thought pets were supposed to be the ones keeping us calm.”

“Treat him like a small child.” Barry sat on the coffee table, while Smudge stuck close to his side, purring at his offered scratches.

“I hate children,” Len said, but Barry was undeterred.

“How about like a new student then, just learning to dance?”

“You know that awful coach on _Dance Moms_?”

“Yeah.”

“I once overheard a student say I made her look like a pushover.”

Barry broke into his heartiest laugh yet, crinkling the dimples beneath his stubble. “Not a people, kid, or animal person, got it.”

“Not an anything person,” Len grumbled. “This was a bad idea.” He grimaced as he tried to get up, not thinking and doing it the way he always used to without care for his hip. It was infuriating to have to think twice about every move he made.

“Here.” Barry stood to help him, and Len grudgingly allowed it.

Smudge stayed on the coffee table.

“I have an idea,” Barry said. “Why don’t we share a cup of coffee or something and sit a while so Smudge can see that I trust you. Once he realizes _I_ like you, he'll warm up to you too.”

“And why would you like a grumpy old man?” Len glanced away.

“I’ll let you know if I run into any,” Barry teased, forcing Len to finally free himself from self-flagellation and smile back.

They left Smudge be and went to the kitchen to fire up Len’s Keurig. He chose a cappuccino to appease his sweet tooth, while Barry was fine with dark roast and one sugar.

Smudge still sat on the coffee table when they returned, watching them as they lounged on the sofa with a flick of the end of his tail. To pass the time, Len asked Barry when he’d moved in, since he’d always remembered that beach house being empty.

“It’s been almost half a year now. I probably just missed you and moved in after your last stay here. It used to be my parents’, just for vacations when I was a kid, but I decided to move out here for good, get away from the city. I have some friends in town. A few were visiting the other day too, so that’s why I had so many over. I hope we didn’t bother you.”

“It was fine,” Len dismissed. “You’re hardly raucous partiers.”

Smudge moved to the sofa suddenly but remained a cushion away from Len, still watching them.

“Keep focused on me,” Barry said in a low whisper that made Len realize how close they sat and how green Barry’s eyes were. “See, the trick with most cats is to ignore them until they come to you, everything on their terms.”

“I see why we're having trouble getting along. Too much alike.”

“So I should try ignoring you?” Barry gave him that smile again, and Len’s stomach flipped. “Sorry.” He pulled away like Len must have looked shell-shocked. “You can tell me to buzz off if I’m being too forward.”

“You’re not, I… I’m just not really…”

“Gay?”

“Definitely gay.”

Barry chuckled. “But not interested, I get it.”

“More that it’s…bad timing.” Len thought of his hip, his retirement, his misery.

“You’re in a difficult place right now, big life transition,” Barry nodded. “You don’t need some nosy neighbor getting too familiar.”

Licking his lips as he clutched his coffee cup, Len focused on the comfort Barry managed to exude as effortlessly as he’d lifted Len from that beach chair the other day. “This is an okay amount of familiar,” he said.

Barry’s eyes followed the trail of his tongue. “I’m glad.”

Electricity buzzed between them like there had to be a storm brewing outside. Despite everything Len had said, he felt drawn to Barry’s orbit like nothing could stop him.

Weight on his thigh snapped his attention to Smudge, who’d snuck closer and had his front paws on Len’s lap now, peering curiously at him as though wondering why he wasn’t being pet yet. Taking a chance, Len reached to stroke his head, and Smudge bucked up into his hand.

“There you go, see?” Barry said. “You just have to be patient and eventually…they come to you.”

Crisis averted. Len had a cat, whose name could now never be anything but Smudge. Len couldn’t change it after their adventures today, not with Barry living next door.

He felt a heat in his chest and low in his belly just from having Barry next to him, tempting him to forget all about his hip and disrupted life, but all too soon, Barry was getting up and heading for the door.

“Sorry, my sister's bringing dinner over so I need to get back. But if you have any more trouble with Smudge, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I will,” Len said. “I mean won’t. _Hesitate_.”

Barry really had melodic laughter. As he stood in the doorway, the setting sun outside cast him in an especially warm glow. “Also, in case you were curious, I am _very_ patient with cats. Goodnight, Len,” he bid farewell with a lingering stare.

“Goodnight, Barry,” Len said, almost afraid his pounding heart would tear from his chest and follow Barry down the walk.

It didn’t. He remained unbloodied and unembarrassed. More or less.

At his feet, Smudge rubbed against his legs and looked up at him with a near-silent squeak.

“That all you got?”

He tried again, but it still came out more squeak than meow.

Crouching carefully, Len reached to pet him. “Time for more food, I take it? Or missing Barry already? Because I… I need to eat too. Come on.”

Heading for the pantry where he’d stored Smudge’s food, Len tried to think of anything other than Barry’s less than subtle offer.

XXXXX

The rest of the week went by uneventfully. Len didn’t see Barry, but the occasional text would ping on his phone, checking to make sure he was okay, that Smudge was okay, without ever explicitly asking if Len wanted company again.

If he was waiting for Len to make the next move, he’d be waiting a long while. He just…couldn’t. Not right now. Not until he sorted himself out.

Smudge was good company, a very good sleeping buddy, like Barry had said, curling right against his side at night or when he napped, somehow knowing to steer clear of Len’s bad hip, and generally being well-behaved.

Len still had no idea what to do with all his free time. He had some family money. He’d saved well. He could coast and exist without needing to work again given how minimally he lived, but that was just existing, just survival. Somewhere along the line, he needed to live again.

At least today was his first day of physical therapy. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but it would give him something to distract himself with. This being a vacation town, the health center was connected to a day spa rather than directly to the hospital, though still close with doctors on call. It had that sense of ‘island time’ the same as being on the beach, like everything moved a little slower here.

It was almost nice. Maybe Len would splurge on a massage.

He was waiting for his name to be called, sitting in the waiting room in simple sweats and sneakers. He hadn’t met his assigned physical therapist yet, but the name on the sheet had been unfortunately old fashioned. Len felt the guy’s pain.

“Leonard?” the front desk nurse called. “Bartholomew is ready for you.”

Len stood—then stiffened when an answering voice called from around the corner.

“Betsy, how many times do I have to remind you. It’s _Barry_.”

_You have got to be kidding._

“Hi, Len,” Barry appeared as if materializing out of Len’s daydreams. “I realized I never got to finish telling you about my day job. Crazy coincidence, huh? When I hinted you’d eventually come to me, this wasn’t exactly what I meant. You ready to get to work on your recovery?”

 _Fuck everything_ , Len thought.

The universe was clearly out to get him.

 

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! 
> 
> While I am also working on By the Red Moonlight, I am almost positive this is what I'll be working on for NaNoWriMo, so stay tuned, there will be more. 
> 
> Thank you so much to my good friend (and nurse) Meagan and to Thette for reviewing for any PT/health fails on my part.

If Len had worried before that Barry might discover his actual age, that fear was now realized since the younger man had access to his medical records.

“Is this weird? Because you absolutely can reschedule with another therapist, Len, I won’t be offended.”

Barry also made it impossible to take the high road and just leave, much as Len wanted to. Besides, _Bartholomew_ Allen had come highly recommended, the best physical therapist in town, and honestly, Len didn’t want to make a fuss.

“It’s fine. As long as you promise to keep things professional.” He meant to smirk at the remark, but it turned out as disastrous as everything else lately and came out a grimace.

“Of course! And I’m serious, if at any point you want to switch to someone else, just tell me. If I didn’t already have a plan in place for you that I think you’ll really benefit from, I’d bow out myself.”

They were in a small room with a desk, computer, two chairs, and a massage table rather than a hospital bed. Len could not stop looking at the table. He’d already thought about getting a massage after the appointment, and now he was with Barry.

Those two things did not need to marry in his head right now.

“I’m sorry I tend to ignore names until I’ve met someone,” Barry continued. “I just focus more on the injury and what’s needed of me while making a treatment plan, then once I meet the person, I’d never forget a name, especially with someone as memorable as you.”

Len’s eyes snapped to Barry’s glittering green with those unfair flecks of gold.

Barry blanched when he realized what he’d said. “Sorry. Wow… Okay, fresh start? I really can be professional and help you through your recovery, I promise.”

“Barry,” Len said evenly, “it’s fine. Really. Let's get started.”

With an obvious sigh of relief, Barry went through the usual questions Len expected from a doctor's visit, making sure what they had on record was accurate and that there had been no changes.

“And don’t worry, we won’t go through this every time since you'll have frequent appointments. Just the question about any changes. All we’re going to do today is go over your plan, hit the gym for a quick recap of the exercises you should be doing regularly, and prepare ourselves for the weeks ahead. Sound good?”

Barry _was_ professional and clearly knew what he was talking about. Len nodded.

“Great! Here's the list you were given after surgery. Look familiar?”

The paper Barry handed him showed various simple exercises with descriptions and diagrams. Len thought maybe he had glanced at it before. Once.

“Have you been doing your assigned exercises at home?”

“Mostly.”

“Len…” Barry said like a scolding teacher.

“Not all or as often as I should,” Len admitted.

“I know this goes without saying, but ignoring your daily routine, especially now, so soon after surgery, will only set you back, increase risk of infection—”

“I’m aware.”

“Then you’ll be sure to be better while following my plan, right?” Barry smiled that dangerous sort of authoritative smile skilled parents and dictators managed so flawlessly. It did nothing to dilute how handsome he looked, even in scrubs.

“I get the impression you’re not going to let me get away with otherwise,” Len said.

“Well, I am the best at what I do.”

“Because you’re the pushiest?”

“That is one of my charms, yes.”

Len laughed, and when Barry joined him, the tension between them finally dissipated. Len could do this. Barry was all too easy to be around.

Once the formalities were out of the way, Barry led him from the exam room to the gym. There were various machines, mats along the floor, walking stations with standing parallels bars for people to hang onto while they walked and did their exercises, as well as a bar along the wall in front of a long mirror like in a ballet studio.

An elderly woman was being helped through the walking station by a lovely young brunette in scrubs like Barry’s, who he smiled at in greeting before turning to Len.

“As a reminder, most of these exercises can be done in bed if it's easier than getting on the floor, but for today, I’ll help you. The trick is to avoid rotating your hip. So first, slowly, get down on your knees.”

Maybe Len jumped the gun, because hearing Barry say _that_ in a soft, tender voice made his heart stammer, especially when warm hands gripped his elbows to assist. Once he was down, Barry remained standing above him.

Len was sure to keep his eyes on the _floor_.

“Next, you're going to roll onto your side and then onto your back, putting the least amount of pressure on the incision site and avoiding rotating where the top of your thighs meet your hips. So, this way… yep… just like that.” He helped Len roll until he was lying down with his knees bent. “See, look at you! Graceful even on your back.” He blanched again. “I mean…”

“I get it.” But it did not help that Barry was so adorably fumbling while most of the time being confident and capable. At least Len felt no pain after the movement, barely a twinge.

Barry released his arms and knelt beside him. “If you feel that getting down and up like that is too strenuous, we can switch to one of the exam rooms next time until you’re stronger. All on your terms, but don’t push yourself. Go ahead and stretch your legs out, and we'll go through each exercise.”

Len did so, and Barry led him through the first few, starting with ankle rotations, which were easy enough.

“You’re going to want to do each of these three to four times a day. My recommendation is that we setup alerts on your phone to help remind you.”

“Fine by me, Doc.”

“Not a doctor the way you’re thinking. I just have a doctorate.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I can’t write you prescriptions.”

“Utterly useless then.”

Barry laughed, the sound almost as captivating as the sight of his dimples when he smiled.

Len tried to focus on the ceiling instead of his face—and how close Barry was, hands occasionally moving to Len’s body to help him with his form.

“Great job. Next, we’re going to do buttock contractions.”

Or Len could die right now.

“Tighten your buttock muscles and hold to a count of five. Repeat ten times. Go ahead.”

“Right…” Len started to, but this move hurt a little.

“Slower. And count out loud, please.”

“Three… F-four...”

“You alright?”

“Stings a bit. Not too bad.”

“You sure? Try even slower, and don’t lift your hips as much, just tighten.” Barry leaned over him and gently rested his hands on either side of the outside of his hips, holding just firm enough to keep him from lifting too far and stroking with his thumbs when he felt Len's muscles clench.

He was just checking his form and to see if the pain was anything concerning, but it made Len suck in a sharp breath.

“Still hurts?”

“No…”

Barry’s eyes met his, and Len forgot his own name for a moment. “Keep counting.” Barry smiled.

“Seven… Eight…”

As Len finished, he was able to shake off how drawn to Barry he felt, but only because Barry _was_ professional even if Len’s mind wasn't, and they moved on to the next set.

“How’s Smudge?” Barry asked once they were off the mat, doing standing exercises at the mirror.

“Good. Did you name him, by the way?”

“No, he came with it already. Why, thinking of changing it?”

“I was, but I think he’d resent me forever if I did.”

“Smart call. Cats are notorious grudge keepers. That’s why I’ll make sure to never cross _you_.” He chuckled, keeping up the joke from before.

He had no idea how right he was in Len’s case.

“You okay on prescriptions?” Barry asked.

“Thought you couldn’t write me any.”

“I still need to know. If you’re running low, you should make an appointment with your general practitioner.”

“I’m good. Anything else for today, _Doc_?” Len said, stressing the name despite Barry’s correction. He'd finished all the exercises, and while he was sore, he felt refreshed. He missed being active.

“Only getting the rest of your long-term plan in the books. Come on.” Barry brought him back to the exam room. “What’s your preference then? Floor or bed?”

Len somehow managed to trip on his feet while _sitting_. “Uh…”

“For next time! For—”

“The exercises, I get it. Floor’s fine.”

Barry’s face was flush as he turned back to the computer. He looked good scarlet. “You'll um...need physical therapy two to three times per week for three months, then once per week for three months after that.”

“I remember.”

“How would you like our ongoing schedule to go? I recommend three days rather than two as the norm, but if something comes up, you can certainly cancel. I’ll get worried if you cancel on me too often though. Any scheduling conflicts to work around?”

“Just my time with you.”

“What are you going to be doing while in town?”

“I’m…still working on that.”

Barry remained thoughtfully quiet as he typed at the computer. “Same time as today then, Monday, Wednesday, Fridays?”

“Sure.”

“Just let me know if anything comes up that might be physically taxing.”

“You’ll be the first.”

Barry’s fingers stuttered over the keyboard.

“To _know_. Because you’re my neighbor,” Len tried to explain, leaving them both fighting a blush this time—and laughter. At least they were even.

“I meant,” Barry said, “like getting into old habits with dance.”

“Not likely.” Len’s smile dropped.

“Oh? May I ask…?”

“What?”

“Couldn’t you have stayed on as a choreographer in the city? I know it wouldn’t be the same—”

“I wasn’t going to get stuck behind a desk planning events and schedules for the ballet,” Len cut him off, having known this would come up eventually—it always did, “watching others train and dance when I…can’t.”

“You know,” Barry said with an awful look of _pity_ , “even if it could never be the same—”

“Because of my age, recovery time, possible complications? I know the schpeal, Barry, that I can overcome it all and make the most of what I have, but I don’t do anything halfway. If I can’t be all in, then I’m out. And when you’re out…you’re out. Time to move on.”

Len expected a fight, a harder push or a pep talk, but Barry nodded.

“I understand. Just keep me up to date, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Should we get those exercise alerts on your phone?”

“Knock yourself out.” Len dug out his cell, swiped to unlock it, and handed it to Barry, who explained an app as he downloaded it that would better track Len’s progress rather than just adding calendar reminders.

When he finished and handed the phone back to Len, he said, “You’re welcome to use the spa facilities at no charge given you have standing appointments now, and since this is your first day, you can enjoy a complimentary massage with any of our available masseuses.”

 _Complimentary_. Maybe Len would indulge.

“And only because I have to mention this…all our physical therapists are also licensed masseuses.” He gestured to the bed— _table_. Len really needed to think of it as a table. “Just not yoga instructors,” Barry added with a smirk.

Oh, he made this hard.

Really hard.

“I think I better use someone else, if it’s all the same,” Len said.

“Of course.” Barry glanced away with that brief flash of shyness and disappointment that Len found so irresistible. “It was good to see you, Len. Remember to do your exercises, and I’ll see you again on Wednesday.”

 

XXXXX

 

Len was an asshole. He knew that of course. He didn’t try very hard not to be, and he’d been told as much many times over the years. Still, he could have been less of an asshole to Barry, who knew Len was interested and was interested right back, pushing only slightly, most of the time accidentally, but always backing off when Len made it clear he just…couldn’t.

Even though he wanted to.

That didn’t change that now wasn’t the right time, and everything was already too complicated with Barry being his neighbor and now his physical therapist. He’d see him several days a week for months. They couldn’t start sleeping together. There were probably rules against that sort of thing, and Barry would get fired if Len gave in.

He also did not want to switch to someone else. Having Barry know intimate details about him and his injury was bad enough. He didn’t need more people infringing on his life.

Len just needed to get through a few weeks of routine and he’d stop thinking of Barry all the—

“Hey, Len!”

— _time_.

Was he literally following him now? It was the same day!

No, Len was in the supermarket in their neighborhood. Of course Barry shopped there too. He also wasn’t alone. A gorgeous, dark-skinned young woman was with him. Len would have felt a stir of jealousy if he wasn’t certain Barry was gay.

He looked his own level of gorgeous out of the scrubs, but then Barry always looked good, with his scruff and his perfectly coifed hair and his long, lean body.

“Barry. Always a pleasure,” Len said, tucking his basket closer to him, suddenly self-conscious of the bottle of Kraft Easy Cheese inside.

He’d been a dancer for over twenty years, rarely allowing a cheat day, but spray cheese had always been a weakness. No reason not to cheat now, though he still felt the need to hide it from these _kids_ who both could have graced a magazine cover.

“Len, this is my sister, Iris. Iris, this is Len Snart,” Barry introduced them, and she immediately smiled as she stretched out a hand.

 _This_ was Iris? Len didn’t see the family resemblance, but then he knew better than to assume.

“Enchanted,” he said.

“Well, I could stand to leave men _enchanted_ more often,” she said with a giggle, her handshake confident and firm. “How do you two know each other?”

“Barry’s my—”

“Neighbor!” Barry jumped in. “Remember, he’s the one I helped into his house the other night.”

“Oh right!” Iris giggled again, and Len fought a scowl as he realized that would likely be how Barry introduced him to any of the folks from that night should he run into them too. “I didn’t recognize you up close. I hope everything’s okay? Nothing serious?”

“Mostly just my embarrassment,” Len said, to which Iris and Barry both laughed.

“Iris is a nurse, so her concern is genuine,” Barry said. “She works at the hospital, but our paths still cross.”

“Family business, is it?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “Both our fathers were doctors.”

Len wasn’t sure which part of that sentence required more attention.

“Just don’t ever say ‘and you're _only_ a nurse?’ or that I must have chosen it because I’m a woman.”

Now it was Len’s turn to chuckle. “While I am generally an ass, I know better than that. Way I hear it anyway, doctors have specialties, but nurses know everything.” He winked, and she fell into a heartier laugh.

“You, Mr. Snart, I like.”

“Please. It’s Len.”

“Len,” Iris repeated, “why don’t you keep Barry company for a minute while I grab a bottle of wine?”

“Oh, I…”

It seemed rather blatant that she was leaving them alone on purpose, especially since Len would swear she elbowed Barry as she passed him.

Still, his curiosity was stronger than the urge to run away. “Pardon my prying, but… _both_ your fathers?”

“Iris is my adopted sister.” Barry's smile turned somber, though not painfully so. “Her father still _is_ a doctor, but my parents passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s _not_ , but it was a long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you mention you’re my physical therapist?”

“HIPAA,” Barry said with a crook to his smirk. “Sorry. Technically, I can’t tell anyone or that would be sharing patient information.”

“Because then the person would know I require a physical therapist.”

“Exactly. You can certainly tell people, it doesn’t have to be a secret, it’s just…easier if we run into each other like this to keep me out of any moral trip-ups.”

“Like heavily flirting with your patient,” Len couldn’t help teasing.

“ _Prior_ to knowing that was the case,” Barry defended. “Difficult though it may be to stop now.”

Len's breath caught, because there Barry went again since they weren't being therapist and patient right now. His eyes had this alluring way of darkening whenever he was being impish.

“Professional, I promise. But, just so you know, in case it ever crossed your mind, we don’t have any policy against dating our patients, it’s just frowned upon.”

 _Imp_.

“Just so I know,” Len said.

“Yep.”

“That should do it.” Iris returned with a bottle of white added to her basket. Given the other ingredients, Len knew exactly what was on the menu.

“Risotto, I take it? Who’s the chef?”

“Oh, all Barry,” Iris patted his arm playfully. “I can’t cook at all. I’ll help myself to the rest of the wine and make pointed comments though.”

“She will indeed,” Barry said, earning him a light smack.

Of course he could cook.

“We’re just headed back to the house,” Iris said, gesturing at Len's half-hidden basket. “Are you really craving that spray cheese, or would you like to join us for dinner?”

“What?” Barry turned to her in surprise, while Len wondered if she was an investigative reporter with the way she’d noticed that cheese. “It’s movie night.”

“So? Doesn’t mean he can’t join us.”

“You never let anyone join us on movie night.”

“He’s _enchanted_. He’s allowed. Len?”

Both their attentions shifted back to him, and he was forced to contemplate the offer from a meddlesome sister—something he knew intimately well—who was clearly trying to set them up. Barry’s curious and hopeful expression despite having chastised her had Len’s walls crumbling like being struck by a bombing raid from their combined forces.

“I would, but…” he stumbled to find an excuse.

“But…he’s still getting settled,” Barry rescued him, while giving a disappointed glance at the floor. “He just moved here long-term. I’m sure he doesn’t want us smothering him.”

“Raincheck?” Len said before he could stop it.

“Really?” Barry brightened. “Coz I’ll hold you to that.”

 _Fuck_. Len was making things worse giving him hope, but then…maybe he was overreacting thinking he couldn’t allow something to spark just because of his hip and general feelings of floating in purgatory. Giving in didn’t have to be a disaster just because everything else in his life was.

“Next time,” he said, as they moved toward the checkout counters and Iris went ahead to pay, giving them another moment of privacy. “What movie are you watching?”

“Our movie nights are always action or horror. Sometimes classic, sometimes cheesy. Tonight, I’m showing Iris _Doom_.”

“She’s never seen it?” Len asked, smitten by the wicked glint in Barry’s eyes— _Doom_ , with Karl Urban, and also one of Dwayne Johnson 'The Rock's' first movies. “Well then, I realize it’s sacrilege to enjoy the film if you’re a fan of the game…”

“As any normal person should be.” Barry nodded, further solidifying his already sparkling charm.

“ _But_ …” Len dropped his voice to a whisper, “I actually rather like it.”

“Me too.” Barry snickered. “You sure I can’t change your mind about joining us?”

Iris was moving quickly through the checkout line, but the one next to them was open, prompting Len to diverge. He could have chosen to stay where he was, take Barry up on the offer, but he needed at least a little more time to decide if this was a risk worth taking.

“Next time,” he said again, and Barry nodded with a wide grin.

“Deal.”

 

XXXXX

 

Len did not see Barry on Tuesday, and at his Wednesday appointment, he managed to resist getting caught up in Barry’s simple touches, though the banter was still present. Len just wasn’t ready to take the plunge yet, not during their first week, and Barry, thankfully, didn’t push.

Thursday went by without seeing Barry either, though that might have been because Len never left the house. He wasn’t moping, but he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was on his second book already with no ideas about how to spend his retirement.

He didn’t have hobbies. He read, enjoyed good food and drink, traveled on occasion, but he had no desire to travel now. Everything else had revolved around shows, whether dance or theater, and his heart wasn’t up for any of that.

Mick had suggested community theater, but Len definitely wasn’t that desperate.

More pressing was that by Friday’s appointment, having been on a consistent routine with his exercises, Len was sore. He never used to get sore so easily, or as tired, and the frustration with that caused his tempter to turn snappish and cold—like he’d been accused of being by every student he’d ever taught.

“You okay, Len? Your form’s a little off today,” Barry said.

“It’s nothing. Just tired.”

“Tired or in pain?” he pressed.

They were doing sets of standing knee raises, and Len was having a hard time staying balanced on one leg with how much it hurt. He’d been taking his pain meds, but he’d always been the sort to burn through medication quickly, and he never wanted to _over_ medicate. He’d rather be in agony than not have his wits about him.

“Len?” Barry pressed again, since he hadn’t responded.

Barry came up behind him while he faced the mirror, hanging onto the bar. When Barry’s hands came to rest on his hips, Len flinched—not because it hurt, though it did, but because he couldn’t bear for someone to be that close, watching him, when he felt ready to explode, out of control, _weak_.

“Len—”

“It’s nothing. Let’s keep going.”

“I think we better stop for today. Sore can be good, but pain from pushing too hard can set you back just as much as inaction. It’s about balance and finding what works for you and your recovery. It doesn’t mean you’re failing. Everyone’s different—”

“Can you drop the preachy bullshit,” Len snapped. “I’m not a fucking child.”

Barry’s eyes shot to Len’s in the mirror, startled and _hurt_ , but the expression was gone a moment later, replaced by an appeasing smile. “We’re done for today,” he said and pulled back to give Len space. 

Len hadn’t even made it through their first full week and already he was showing Barry his true, ugly self. At least that made it easier to give up on the idea of pursuing him.

“If it really hurts you, take out a set, go slower, wait longer in between exercises, but if that doesn’t help, we need to keep an eye on increased pain that might mean more than tired muscles.”

“I know,” Len said. It wasn’t as if he wanted an infection but pushing himself was part of his DNA; he didn’t know how not to, or how to not be an increasingly worse asshole to the people in his life. That’s why so few of them stayed. “I’ll ease up. We can be done.” He should apologize, but he couldn’t bring himself to look Barry in the eyes.

“And to think you started out ignoring your exercises,” Barry joked, though it felt stiffer now, forced. “Balance, okay? No need to touch base in the exam room today. Let me know the moment the pain gets worse, if it does, but you can go, and I’ll see you next week.”

Dismissal. _Patient_ dismissal and professional, but dismissal all the same.

Len was even angrier when he got home because he could tell he’d broken something important between him and Barry, but he didn’t know how to fix it. Maybe if he’d apologized instead of being a jerk, but Leonard Snart didn’t do regrets. He’d always been better at absolutes.

His hip still ached after the drive home. Even walking was a chore. That made his pulse ratchet and his fists clench, not thinking as he stormed into the house, moving like he used to, at a rush, with careless strides as though he’d never had surgery.

But his hip didn’t like that one bit, and before he could think better of his actions, it seized, and he stumbled, cursing all the way down until he landed hard, barely catching himself with his hands.

He’d _fallen_. What the hell was wrong with him?

Rolling onto his back with a huff, he tried to calm himself down. Had he torn something? Did he just make things worse? If he needed to head to the hospital…

But no, once he relaxed, nothing hurt more than before, other than his wrists from catching his fall. He’d managed to land without causing more damage, but that didn’t ease his future bruises—or the ones to his ego.

Once he was ready, and moving much more cautiously, he used what Barry had taught him to roll up slowly, get to his knees, and stand.

A squeak alerted him that Smudge had been roused from wherever he'd been sleeping, concerned for Len as he rubbed against his legs and squeaked again.

“Sorry, buddy, can’t reach down to pet you right now.” Len walked sluggishly to the sofa, where his pain meds and a bottle of water from that morning sat on the coffee table. After easing down into the cushions, he snatched up the medication, since it was time for more anyway, and downed his dose with a grimace.

Smudge hopped onto the coffee table after him, and Len was able to reach over and stroke his fluffy head.

“Good boy. Hard to be saddled with a mess like me, huh? Might not be the best snuggle buddy right now, but I’ll be okay.”

Sitting at the edge of the table to enjoy a few more pets, Smudge regarded Len curiously but eventually agreed to leave him be and trotted away. He really was the perfect cat—or psychic. Len needed alone time.

He turned his head to the sliding glass doors and his brand-new beach chair outside, which was everything he’d wanted as far as comfort and support, but he had no desire to sit out there now with the chance of Barry coming home soon and seeing him.

Len just wished everything could be easier, which he knew was juvenile and stupid, but those thoughts plagued him anyway.

If only he’d never needed the surgery. If only he was younger, could recover faster, and get back in the game. If only he’d met Barry under different circumstances. If only he wasn’t an asshole. If only he could enjoy Barry’s hands at his hips, or his elbows, or along his lower back, always present during their sessions, tender and careful.

In another life, Len might have encouraged Barry without fearing the inevitable unravelling that always followed his romantic entanglements. He would have taken Barry’s hands with those long, lovely fingers and held them in place at his waist, maybe even pulled them around his stomach and down beneath the elastic of his sweats…

Len grunted in annoyance at his shifted train of thought, because now he was getting hard—hard while thinking about Barry with no desire to derail the fantasy.

Much as he needed release, he still paused to peek in the direction Smudge had gone, seeing the cat at his water dish, then watching him head off toward the bedroom. It was silly to worry about his cat catching him, but still, Len was grateful for the solitude and relaxed into the sofa, feeling the faint numbness of his meds kicking in.

He thought again of Barry’s hands slipping into his sweats and allowed one of his own to do so for real. It was a naughty daydream, picturing it all happening in the gym at the health center, alone with Barry but with the chance that someone might catch them at any moment.

Len curled his fingers around himself and squeezed, pulsing hotter from the scene playing behind his eyes as he closed them—how Barry would obey his subtle nudging, even though it was terribly inappropriate in public. Facing the mirror with Barry behind him, their eyes would meet but with hunger instead of the judgment and sorrow from before.

Barry’s fingers would tease along his length, and Len would gasp, his hips subtly moving—

“Ah!” Len hissed when he tried to mimic the fantasy, buttock muscles tightening like they always did when he touched himself, which was part of the problem doing those exercises in Barry’s presence, but Len’s injury wouldn’t even allow him this.

He removed his hand with a growl and tried to think of other ways to help himself along without aggravating his hip, but that wasn’t easy without a partner.

How terrible of a person would Len be if he called Barry to apologize for earlier with the ulterior motive of inviting him over?

Definitely an asshole.

“Knock, knock!” a voice called from the entryway and— _no_. Not now. Please no. “Lenny!”

Lisa—his sister, damn it—without having given him any warning, announced herself as she came right in, and Len hurried to right himself, causing a renewed spike of pain to tear through him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed again.

“Lenny?” She appeared finally, looking beautiful as ever with her long brunette locks curled over her shoulder, blue eyes piercing like his, and wearing a classy ensemble in a mix of black and gold.  

Smudge reappeared to greet her—and even rubbed against her legs!

“Aw, is this my furry little nephew?” She reached down to pick him up and moved into the living room with him in tow.

“Lisa…” Len growled, though he should have known she’d pull something like this. Ambushing him was one of her favorite pastimes.

It didn’t help that Smudge seemed perfectly content to let her snuggle him. She pressed her forehead to his and he nuzzled right into her, the traitor.

“Did I interrupt something?” she teased, as though she knew exactly what Len had been up to, though he’d made sure to let his sweatpants bunch to hide the evidence, and it wasn’t as if he’d have his _issue_ for much longer given her arrival.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“What does it look like?” she said, and Len took note of the bag she’d dropped before picking Smudge up. “Staying for the weekend, silly, to take care of my big brother.” She grinned in that ridiculously mischievous way she had as Len’s stomach sunk to the floor. “Did you miss me?”

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onto the next endeavor!
> 
> Oh, have I missed this one, and let me tell you, it writes itself, and I have everything planned to the end. :-)
> 
> Enjoy!

Len poured Lisa a drink, planning tea for himself. She'd already unpacked in the guest room, making herself comfortable with her heels kicked off, legs tucked under her on the sofa while Smudge sprawled on the cushion next to her to accept her scratches.

Len would have wondered how she could wear such tall and deadly weapons each day, but a dancer's feet were made of tougher material than most people's.

“You could have warned me,” he said from the kitchen.

“You would have told me not to come.”

“And you would have come anyway.”

“So why bother? Neat, please,” she said when he turned to the fridge to grab ice for her whiskey. Len always kept a few staples stocked in his liquor cabinet even though he rarely indulged, especially when on medication.

Returning to the living room with the whiskey and his steeping tea, Len sat opposite his sister and handed her the drink. Smudge sniffed after it but deemed it unworthy to disturb his backrub.

“Don't you have a show to prepare for, _Dulcinea_?” Len said.

 _Don Quixote_ was one of the most famous ballets of all time, and Lisa was set to play a pivotal roll in Central City's upcoming performances. Len could admit that mixed with the pride he felt for her talent and fame was a shade of jealousy.

“Exactly why I'm here. This is my last chance to have fun before my schedule becomes a nightmare. When else was I going to visit? And don't say never,” she rushed on before he could answer. “You big grouch. You're lucky Mother wasn't up for the trip.”

Len didn’t dare say that Lisa was far worse than their mother.

Out in the open on the coffee table, Len’s phone buzzed with a text.

From Barry.

_Hey! Let me know if we need to keep it down, but you’re welcome to join us if you want._

Barry had people over again. If Len strained his ears, he could hear the thud of bass filtering over from next door, but only faintly.

“Who’s that?” Lisa asked with a curious head tilt.

Nope. Not happening—even if Len had been thinking about Barry ever since leaving his appointment and still needed to apologize for being an asshole. He couldn’t do that over text though.

“No one. Just my calendar reminder for physical therapy on Monday. I assume you’ll be gone by then?” He shot off a response without making it obvious that he was texting.

_Pretty beat so headed to bed early. You kids have fun._

Why had Barry even invited him? Wasn’t he deterred by Len’s outburst earlier? Or was he just being nice? Regardless, Len couldn’t give into his curiosity—or his libido—with Lisa around.

 _Sleep well_ , Barry texted back.

“Lenny.” Lisa reached across the sofa, startling Len with a pat on the knee. “Be a good host or I’ll never leave. Now, tell me absolutely everything I’ve missed.”

 

XXXXX

 

Len managed to avoid saying anything about Barry, other than that he had a nice enough neighbor who didn’t annoy him, and that he liked his physical therapist fine. She didn’t need to know they were the same person.

Sadly, the next morning, Lisa’s presence was not proven to be a nightmare. She was rummaging in Len’s kitchen.

“Lenny,” she said, hands on her hips after letting the refrigerator door shut, perfectly polished and coifed for the day without a speck of makeup out of place, “you don't have any food in this house. Other than garbage.” She waved the can of spray cheese at him.

“I have food,” he protested.

“Not breakfast food.”

“There’s coffee.” Usually, that was all Len required, maybe with toast or a banana, but that wasn’t up to Lisa’s standards.

“Get ready. We’ll find a bakery or diner so you can show me around town. Or are you too embarrassed to admit you haven’t explored much since you've been moping?”

Len's eye twitched. “It’s called recuperating. Relaxing. Sitting on the beach with a good book.”

“ _Moping_. Aren’t you lucky I’m here?” She tossed her long curls over her shoulder.

“Brat,” he mumbled as he turned to get dressed.

“Bitch,” she called right back.

Len’s mouth twitched this time. She always managed to wrangle a smile, even when she was driving him crazy.

No, he hadn’t explored much. He knew the beach, the health center, the grocery store. The cute little Mom and Pop shops with village charm hadn’t been a priority.

Lisa made quick work of that, Googling ‘bakery’, selecting one with the highest star rating, which happened to be closest, and brought them straight there. Not having to drive was a treat, though since Len hadn't had his coffee yet, he elected to forego contacts and wore his glasses.

Small Miracles Bakery was situated among several other shops along a quaint street. There was a bustle of bodies inside, but even so, a handsome man with blond hair and charming blue eyes took the time to shout a greeting from the front.

“Good morning! Be right with you.”

Len and Lisa got in line, leaning around the crowd of Saturday morning pastries goers to see what was offered. The array of baked goods and the smell of toasted items, including something savory—egg, bacon, and cheese for sure—stirred Len's stomach to hunger. They hadn’t eaten much last night, merely snacked and talked until Lisa gave him leave to go to bed.

“Welcome to Small Miracles Bakery,” the man said brightly when it was their turn.

“Love the name,” Lisa gushed.

“My uncle used to say there are no coincidences only small miracles you're meant to take advantage of. What can I get for you two?”

“That one is mine!” a familiar voice rang out before Len could answer, drawing his attention to a doorway into the kitchen just as Iris came out of it.

Followed by Barry.

_How?_

“Len!” Barry exclaimed through a mouthful of pastry, having been trying to steal a second one from Iris.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Len asked accusingly.

“Eddie’s my brother-in-law.” Barry gestured to the man behind the counter. “Perks of nepotism means I get to taste the new creations. Want a wildberry and cream cheese pocket?” He held out Iris’s pastry, but she reclaimed it with a smack to his arm.

“Who's this?” Lisa asked with a smile cast between them like she’d stumbled upon some great secret—which she had.

“Oh, sorry! I’m Barry,” Barry said, looking effortless and adorable at any hour, which was horrific enough when Len was wearing glasses and whatever else he'd thrown on without Lisa getting involved, “and this is my sister Iris and her husband Eddie. Guys, this is Len. And…”

Len sighed; there was no getting around it now. “Barry, Iris...Eddie, apparently—”

“You're Len? I heard all about you—”

“ _Eddie_ ,” Barry said hurriedly.

“I mean…uhh…”

“This is my sister, Lisa,” Len saved them.  

“Pleasure,” she said, extending a hand to shake Barry’s, then Iris’s, then flicking a little wave at Eddie. “I got in last night.”

“Are you staying long?” Iris asked.

“Only as long as I’m able. I have a ballet to get back to in the city.”

“You’re a dancer like Len?” Barry chirped.

“Prima ballerina. You know a lot about Lenny, huh? How do you two—?”

Len quickly rose above the derailing conversation. “We're holding up the line. May I have whatever smells like bacon?” He turned to Eddie.

“Egg, cheese, and bacon croissant,” the man recited cheerily. “With or without spinach?”

“With, please. And some coffee.”

“And a mocha for me,” Lisa added, “large on both. And…” She eyed the bakery goods again.

“Why don’t I sneak you into the back for one of those pastries?” Iris waved her over. “If Eddie doesn’t mind?”

“Go on! I need varied opinions. Iris and Barry like everything I make.”

There was still a line forming behind Len, so he used the opportunity of their sisters disappearing to move out of the way after Eddie handed him his croissant, and a young woman at the coffee machine started making their drinks.

 “Went to bed early last night, huh?” Barry whispered as they stood off to the side.

“Wish I could have. Iris seems lovely and meddling. Lisa is just meddling. Coming over last night wouldn’t have been optimal.” Len took a bite of his croissant to distract himself— _heaven_.

“And you’re not interested so…”

Then nearly choked, enough to make him cough for fifteen seconds. “Are _you_?” he sputtered.

“You think I scare that easy? I’ve been nearly punched, cursed at, hexed once actually. People in pain,” Barry hushed his voice lower, leaning into Len's body, “in real agony and denial, trying to pull themselves up from something they can’t change, it’s tough and sometimes they lash out. That’s okay, I get it, it’s part of the job.”

He really had the most tempting bow to his lips…

Len swallowed, still feeling a bit of flakey crust in his throat. “I don’t get why anyone would want that job.”

“No, you got to be the asshole to everybody else and they had to listen to you,” Barry said, smiling guilelessly. “Me, I have to be patient because being an ass back to an ass just makes a bigger mess. Somewhere along the line, everyone needs to save themselves, but we can do better by lending a hand or an ear even when it's not asked for.”

Crap, he was incredible. Surreal, really.

He probably had bodies in his basement.

“Are you sure you're not secretly a baby-faced forty-something with that kind of wisdom?” Len asked.

“Nope, just twenty-eight. But I can see the appeal of a wise forty-something. Love the glasses, by the way.”

Crap again. Although it was enticing, realizing he might not have ruined everything after all.

“This is amazing!”

Lisa and Iris came back from the kitchen, effectively ruining the moment, and Lisa paid for their breakfast and coffees at the register.

If Barry and Iris hadn’t needed to head out just then, Len was certain they would have ended up eating breakfast together at one of the tables.

“Bye, Len. See you Monday.”

It was only after Len and Lisa were back in the car that he realized he still hadn’t technically apologized.

 

XXXXX

 

Len was excited Lisa would be heading back to the city, only for her to announce that since she’d been close to peaking early anyway and dress rehearsals weren’t until mid-week, she now wasn’t leaving until Tuesday.

Barry’s “ _See you Monday”_ had led to questions, which meant Lisa now knew he was Len’s physical therapist and would not leave it alone. Luckily, he’d avoided having her discover Barry was also his neighbor. 

So far.

That didn’t prevent her from offering to bring him to physical therapy, something he agreed to only because she’d be driving again and could get him coffee . The request for caffeine ensured she’d drop him off and leave, meeting him there again afterward— _in the car_. He did not need her coming inside.

Hurrying into the health center before she could change her mind, Len headed directly for the workout room to meet Barry.

“About last time…” he began without so much as a ‘hello’.

“It’s fine,” Barry said, motioning for him to lie on the mat, but Len held fast.  

“No, it’s not. I was an asshole, like you said. I did warn you.”

“You did. But I don’t really think you’re an asshole, Len. I think you’re frustrated and a little bit of a perfectionist about yourself. Which is probably why you were always hard on your students. Because they were a reflection of you, and if they weren’t performing at their best, why bother?”

“Something like that.” Len continued to be amazed by Barry’s insight. “Still, I'm sorry I snapped.”

“Thank you. Now, have you been keeping up with your exercises with Lisa around? Hopefully not pushing too much?”

“With her nagging added to yours, I promise, I’ve been a model patient.” Len really had been all weekend, following every alert on his phone to tend to his routine.

“Prove it,” Barry said.

Len was still sore, but nothing like a few days ago. He was able to perform most of his exercises without trouble, though he did have to end a few intervals early on some.

When they were nearing the end of their session, another therapist, the brunette Len had seen before, brought a patient into the room, who waved at Barry with an irritated sort of flap. She was young, preteen maybe, on crutches with a magenta colored prosthetic on her left leg. Judging by the way she hobbled, it must have been new.

“We went over time a little,” Barry said. “Okay to skip the exam room again? You’re doing great. She’s my next patient.”

“Sure. Of course.”

The therapist left the girl at one of the walking stations. She let her crutches fall to the side and hung onto the bars, but walking was still an obvious chore for her.

“Really tragic. Car accident, no one’s fault, just one of those things. Her parents are fine, but her leg got trapped, too mangled, got infected later, and had to be removed below the knee. Kids are remarkably resilient, but even they take time to get to the point of being able to cope, be brave, move forward. She isn’t there yet.”

Len watched her struggle across the walking station before he realized, “Did you just violate HIPAA?”

“Oops.” Barry shrugged.

Len doubted that, especially when Barry gave a wink, a swift “See you next session,” and walked over to the girl, only to say he needed to grab something from the other room and left them alone.

Barry’s words from before flitted through Len's mind.

_Somewhere along the line, everyone needs to save themselves, but we can do better by lending a hand or an ear even when it’s not asked for._

Stretching in the aftermath of his exercises, Len moved across the workout room, nearing the walking station and catching the girl’s eye, who seemed to take notice of his mild limp.

“State of the art looks like.” He nodded to her artificial leg.

“I hate it,” she said, pausing midway along the bars. There was a streak of magenta in her hair to match her leg.

“Chafe?”

“No.”

“That’s good. They’re making them better and better these days. Hurt you some other way?”

“No.”

“Prefer to go without?”

“No.”

Len smirked at her short responses. “So, complaining for complaining’s sake?”

“I want my leg back," she scowled, "not some piece of me I take off at night.”

There was bitterness in her words that Len knew well, though he understood that she had more to be angry about than he did. “Too bad,” he said anyway. “Doesn’t work like that. I should know. I can wish all I want that I hadn’t had the surgery that means I’ll never dance the same way again, but nothing changes the truth.” He tapped his hip lightly.

“You danced?” she asked with interest.

“Most my life.”

“Like… _The Nutcracker_?”

Always either _Swan Lake_ or _The Nutcracker_. “Yes, actually. I played the Mouse King once, before I started teaching. I was always a good dancer, better at creating dances for others though.” 

“The Mouse King’s the bad guy.” The girl’s eyes lit up, and she leaned closer across the bars.

“I made a good bad guy.” Len leaned right back. “You’d make a good Nutcracker, you know.”

“Isn’t he a boy?”

“I prefer hero, and that has never been gender specific. He’s not all flesh and blood either, but that doesn’t stop him. Heroes are made of more than their parts. If you’re going to keep complaining and giving Barry a hard time though, maybe I’ll steal that leg from under you and save him the trouble. He already has to put up with me, and I’m no picnic. He really can’t handle another tough patient.”

“You won’t steal my leg.” She pulled away from him.

“Well, I don’t move as fast as I used to, but I am still quite the conniving _rat_.” Len lunged at her, and she laughed, moving so naturally to get away from him that she forgot to think of her new leg as a foreign extension. It was only halfway down the walking station that she stopped and realized with a wobble how far she’d gone without trouble.

“Better,” Len said. “Maybe you’ll go easy on Barry today.”

The girl stared, amazed at herself and at Len, just as Barry reentered the room.

“Well, look at you!” he called. “Not so hard, right? You’ll get it.”

She grabbed onto the bars as if embarrassed, but Len felt a flutter of pride like he hadn’t experienced since he taught his last student.

“Til next time, Barry.” He nodded in farewell, then turned to the girl with a salute. “Miss Nutcracker,” he said and walked away without addressing Barry’s confused look.

 

XXXXX

 

All would have been well if that had been the end of it, but when Len exited into the waiting room with a small smile on his lips, he lost it upon seeing his sister not in the car but at the front desk chatting up one of the physical therapists.

This one was more on the petite side with beautiful long dark hair and an endearing smile. He kept tucking his locks behind his ear in an obvious nervous tick at having such a beautiful woman flirt with him. Lisa never stopped to consider how her actions might hurt someone when she wasn’t actually interested.

Then she licked her lips. She _liked_ him. Wonderful.

“Your brother lives _there_?” His eyes snapped to Len as he walked up with a sigh. “Oh whoa, you…you’re the one Barry ‘Florence Nightingaled’ last week. I mean—carried inside.”

“He _what_?” Lisa stared wide-eyed.

Of course this was Barry’s friend— _that_ friend, who’d teased him over text when they disappeared inside Len’s beach house together.

“Len!” the man snapped his fingers in remembrance. “Right? Barry’s neighbor. And patient…” His face scrunched in thought. “Uh…I think there may be a few too many weird HIPAA violations going on…”

Betsy, the receptionist, continued flipping through a magazine. “I heard nothing.”

“Neighbors too, huh? Well, if you’re friends with Barry,” Lisa said to the young man, “why don’t you join us for dinner tonight? We can make it a double date.”

“ _Lisa_ ,” Len warned.

“Just a get to know your _neighbors_ sort of thing,” she said pointedly, without looking at Len. “We’ll cook. You convince Barry to come along. Say…7pm?”

“Uh…sure?”

Peachy.

It wasn’t that Len didn’t like the idea of finally giving in to Barry’s advances, he just hadn’t expected to do so with his sister present.

As they left the wellness center, Len wasn’t sure if he was pissed at her or grateful. “You mean _I’ll_ cook,” he said when they reached the car.  

“Obviously.”

 

XXXXX

 

It wasn’t a date, Len told himself. Or a double date, despite Lisa’s insistence. It was just Barry coming over for dinner with a friend.

Len spending hours working on dinner was beside the point.

After confirming that no one was allergic to shellfish, he’d decided on shrimp, Spanish rice, avocado coleslaw, and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. One glass of wine with his medication should be fine, and if he was mistaken, he had two physical therapists to correct him.

Barry looked effervescent when they arrived, even with his fidgety friend beside him, who was cute, just more Lisa’s type than Len’s with the long locks and nerdy-chic vibe. Barry also looked good despite carrying his dog.

“Is it okay I brought Nora along? I think she’s been missing Smudge,” he said, hanging onto the squirming bundle of fluff until Len nodded, and Barry was free to release her into the house.

“She’s basically Barry’s child,” his friend said, holding a box that hinted at dessert. “I’m Cisco, by the way. We didn’t officially meet before. And while this is the best tres leches cake you will ever eat,” he hefted the box, “it’s from Eddie’s bakery, I didn’t make it.”

“You brought dessert? What wonderful guests.” Lisa appeared as Len let Barry and Cisco inside. She was a knockout as usual, always dressed to impress when trying to schmooze someone. Cocktail dresses were not necessary when hosting in one’s home, but she wore one anyway.

Len was dressed more casually along the same lines as Barry and Cisco—untucked button-down, slacks. Though Cisco had tied his hair back in a half-ponytail, mouth agape as he looked at Lisa, which nearly caused him to let the box of cake slide out of his hands.

Barry snatched it up just in time to bring it into the kitchen. “Whatever you made smells amazing, Len. Thanks for inviting us over.”

“Lisa did the inviting,” Len said as an aside, “but I’m glad you’re here.” 

Dinner even came with entertainment. Nora _had_ missed Smudge, and the feeling was mutual. Once she found Smudge sleeping in one of his many hiding spots around the house, the two embarked on a constant game of tag.

They’d chase one another across the living room, hide, peek out, dash over furniture. If Nora caught Smudge, he’d roll over playing submissive, and they’d tussle for a spell. If Smudge caught Nora, she’d yelp and cry until Smudge let her up.

“Ignore her,” Barry said. “She’s just a drama queen and doesn’t like to lose.”

True enough, the two would get right back to chasing each other, proving they were still good friends, no matter who won the latest round.

Eventually, about the time Len and his guests were finishing dessert—he was in trouble with Eddie’s bakery so close—the game of tag came to an end as Nora and Smudge curled up on the rug in front of the sofa to nap.

They made it look so easy—the chase, the give and take, all ending in a contented cuddle.

“Tell me, Cisco, how did you end up in a beach town?” Lisa asked, swirling her remaining wine.

Len was on glass number two, only because he knew it would pair with the tres leches cake as nicely as it had the shrimp, and he hadn’t gotten any warning looks.

“I grew up here,” Cisco said. “Been other places, but there’s no place like home.”

“That explains the perfect beach hair. What about you, Barry?”

“I’m from the city, like you. Needed a change. Central can be overwhelming, but out here, I feel like I can really make a difference. Plus, um…a bad breakup had a little to do with it.”

“Oh?” Len prompted before he’d meant to say anything. Maybe he didn’t need to finish his second glass of wine. "You didn't mention that before."

“It's not my best opening line." Barry smiled. "Nothing horrible like cheating or a giant fight, more…long-term and hard to let go. I knew he wasn’t the one, but I was afraid to start over. So much wasted time, when we get so little of it…” A flicker of pain crossed his face, but Len had a feeling it wasn’t only because of Barry’s ex. “Moving here reminds me every day to take chances and not waste a second I’m given.”

“Sound advice,” Lisa said. “Lenny used to be like that.”

“Used to?” He shot her an annoyed look. “I moved out here, didn’t I?”

“You were a dancer too, right?” Cisco interjected, which was just as well, since Len hadn’t drunk much lately and could easily skirt the edge into buzzed territory and being catty with his sister.

“More recently a choreographer,” he said.

“You two ever work together?”

Len and Lisa laughed with equal gusto.

“Uh, no,” she said. “Normal people can barely stand to work with Lenny. I certainly wasn’t going to try. I saw him make someone cry once.” She sipped coyly from her drink.

“You made someone cry once?” Barry gaped at him.

“No, I made someone cry multiple times, Lisa just witnessed it once.”

They all snickered.

“Don’t think me cold. I was only tough on my dancers because I knew they weren’t living up to their potential, while at the same time strutting around and acting big as if they were…”

“The shit?” Barry offered.

“Exactly.”

“Oh!” Cisco exclaimed. “You’re Gordon Ramsay!”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, _Hell’s Kitchen_ , _Kitchen Nightmares_. Take the _MasterChef_ series. Ramsay seems like this huge dick whenever there’s some cocky jerk who thinks they know everything about cooking, and really, they should, they’re a chef and have their own restaurant most of the time. He just brings them down a peg to show them where they’re wrong. But when it’s _MasterChef Junior_ and he’s working with kids, he is the sweetest guy ever.”

Lisa leaned back in her chair, crossing one long leg over her knee. “So, you’re saying Lenny’s only a dick to people who deserve it?”

“That isn’t always true,” Len said, meeting eyes with Barry in further apology for how he’d acted the other day, “but I try.”

“Maybe teaching kids could be your next career move,” Barry said.

“I told you, I hate children, and I am terrible with them.”

“Didn’t look that way earlier,” Barry said, reminding Len of the girl with the prosthetic. “Maybe you are a Gordon Ramsay. I’d love to see that side of you.”

“I’d love to see you dance,” Cisco said, though it was obvious he meant Lisa more than Len, since his eyes could barely look away from her.

“You know,” she set down her glass, though there was mischief in her eyes that worried Len, “even though Lenny never directed me, we were in a show together once. One of his last performances, and one of my first major roles. We really pushed each other. I still think it was my best show.”

It was Len’s best too, and the beginning of the end for him with his hip. He’d thought he could forestall the inevitable by teaching, but he danced almost more as a choreographer, and a few too many falls and strains and tears later, he'd paid the price.

“ _Giselle_. Lenny was the leading man, and I was one of the Wilis—one of these three haunting spirits, all lovely young maidens who hate men because they died of broken hearts. It made it much easier to play a part where I constantly wanted to murder Lenny instead of woo him.”

Barry and Cisco chuckled, and Barry looked at Len in much the same way that Cisco kept looking at Lisa. “I’d love to see that too.”

“You have a recording, don’t you, Lenny?”

Oh no. That was the last thing Len needed. “Lisa—”

“He’s so meticulous with his things, I’m sure I can find the DVD.”

“Lisa!” he tried calling when she got up from the table and disappeared into his bedroom. How she knew that’s where he kept his most precious collectables, he…really shouldn’t be surprised; she always knew him best.

Only after they were seated on the sofa, a little crowded with four of them, did Barry seem to notice Len’s agitation.

“Sorry. This is still hard on you, isn’t it?” he whispered as the recording began, Lisa having dimmed the lights and made sure Cisco was near her in the corner of the couch, while Len had the other corner with Barry close at his hip.

His hip…that was to blame for many things, even Barry being here, if he was honest, and that…wasn’t the worst thing.

“It’s fine,” Len said. It was a wonderful show, and the recording was of their best night.

Lisa had teased him that he might as well have been a Disney Prince with his royal looking velvet blue top and white tights. Len was so flexible then, so effortlessly powerful. When he leapt into the air, it seemed like he'd never touch down again. It had felt that way too.

That stir of resentment was still there, longing, nostalgia, even anger, but while Barry seemed interested in the ballet, Len kept catching his eyes straying to him in the here and now, just as he was.

It was late when the recording finished. Barry had to peel Smudge from the floor to get at Nora. Smudge irritatedly flicked his tail and went to sit on an opposite corner of the rug, but Nora wriggled happily once Barry had her in his arms.

Lisa and Cisco walked outside ahead of them to stand on the beach. It was a calm, cool night.

“In case you were still wondering about the other day, you’re forgiven,” Barry said.

“Thanks. Can't promise it won't happen again. While I hold firm to the opinion that I am an asshole, I'm not the man in that recording anymore. And I'm not sure I'm ready to accept that,” Len added honestly.

“He was impressive.” Barry set Nora down, and she hurried along the sidewalk toward home, only to retrace her steps halfway when Barry didn't follow. “Graceful, passionate. _Limber_.” He waggled an eyebrow.

Len laughed, much as the truth stung. “I'm not any of those things.”

“You are very much the first two. And don’t forget,” Barry tipped his head closer, “it's my job to help you rediscover the third one.”

Len would have laughed again, but Barry was so close, his words were stolen, lost in the light breeze between them, and then stolen further when Barry kissed him.

The press was swift, chaste but firm, lips parting the tiniest bit before Barry pulled away, with Len hanging on a breath after him. Lisa and Cisco hadn’t seen, but Len felt Nora nudge between their legs, impatient that Barry was ignoring her.

“I finally found your fault,” Len said when he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Yeah?” Barry grinned.

“Zero shame and bad pickup lines.”

The bark of Barry’s laughter helped distract from the bone-deep shiver Len released at their separation. “Does that mean it's not working?”

Staring at Barry’s lips, Len ran his tongue over his.

“You can tell me to stop anytime,” Barry said, “but while I am patient, after the twelfth or thirteenth rejection, I will finally give up. Maybe.”

“Tomorrow?” Len said before he could think too hard on it. “How about tomorrow? Just the two of us.”

“Really? Wait, no, not…not tomorrow.” Barry’s face darkened, harkening back to the pain Len had seen before, only to vanish just as quickly. “Wednesday? I could get off early after your PT?”

“Hey, Barr, you coming?” Cisco called from down the sidewalk.

Nora yipped in solidarity.

“Okay,” Len agreed. “We’ll finalize plans during my appointment.”

“Perfect. I can't wait. Goodnight, Len.”

“Goodnight.”

Len was still staring after Barry when Lisa stepped into his line of sight with a smug smirk.

“Shut up,” he said and turned back to go inside.

“You're welcome.” She followed him.

Smudge sat inside the door, mourning his lost playmate. Len picked him up to stroke his fur in apology—and to hide any obvious tremors from Lisa.

“Is it so wrong to want to remind you that life is about living, not flailing at invisible obstacles?” She snickered suddenly, and Len glanced back at her. “Tilting at windmills, Lenny?”

“Cute.”

“He is. So is Cisco.” It was then Len noticed that she was holding her phone, as if it had recently had a new contact added.

“You got his number?”

“Why not? I need to live my life too.”

Len couldn’t even be mad, not as much as he wanted to be.

He had a date with Barry.

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barry isn't as perfect as Len thinks. 
> 
> Thank you to those still reading! This one means a lot to me. :-)

Lisa had taken an Uber to Len’s beach house originally but given his good mood after how last night went with Barry, he offered to drop her off at the airport. It was a four-hour drive back to the city, which made for a short flight.

“See you soon?” Lisa said after kissing his cheek goodbye.

“No promises,” Len teased, but smiled.

It had been her suggestion that he get Smudge, and her meddling that got him a date he wasn’t feeling nearly as neurotic about as he could be. Lisa’s visit hadn’t turned out as catastrophic as he’d feared.

Until he got back in the car—why had he parked instead of kicking her to the curb—and it wouldn’t start.

Len sat for ten minutes doing everything he could think of to get the engine to do more than sputter, all to no avail, and he finally had to give up and call for a tow.

He considered calling Barry but thought better of it when he remembered the sad look in Barry’s eyes when he’d said today wasn’t possible for their date. Whatever Barry had going on, Len didn’t want to disturb him.

Firestorm Garage was somehow just as charming as everywhere else in the beach town, including a pair of mechanics and a nice older gentleman in the office who all seemed earnest and helpful rather than crooked like grease monkeys in the city.

One of the mechanics, a friendly younger man named Jax, got right to work, while the other explained to Len what they thought might be wrong, sporting the nametag Ronnie.

“As long as it isn’t the transmission, it should be an easy fix,” Ronnie said.

Knowing Len’s luck, it _would_ be the transmission, but he sat in the waiting room in preparation for good or bad news, enjoying coffee and a donut. The donuts were in a box labelled Small Miracles Bakery, which should have been Len’s first clue that the universe was still out to get him long before Iris and the female physical therapist from the health center came in.

“This really is a small town.” He greeted Iris with a nod. He seriously expected Barry to walk in behind them, but not this time.

“The smallest.” Iris chuckled. “You’ve probably met Caitlin before. She works with Barry.”

“Not by name. A pleasure.” Len shook her hand. She was the same youthful age as Iris and Barry, her hair long and brunette like Len’s sister’s. This was the first time he’d seen it down, however.

“You’re Barry’s neighbor too, right?” Caitlin said. “From the other night? I was at Barry’s bonfire.”

Yet another of the crew who’d seen Len carried bridal style into his home by a stranger. Wonderful.

“I’m surprised Ronnie didn’t recognize you. Or did he?”

“Because Ronnie is…”

“My husband.”

Of course, he was. “He did not. Anyone else from that party I need to kill to rise above this lingering embarrassment?”

The ladies laughed.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Caitlin said. “How lucky for you to have a trained medical professional next door?”

So nice of her to call that out since it made Len feel about ninety. “Very lucky.”

“I can’t believe you had dinner without me last night,” Iris jumped in. “We’ll have to fix that soon. Have you and Barry over so you can meet Eddie outside the apron.” The fact that she was already treating Len and Barry like a couple made Caitlin’s eyes sparkle with interest—and Len’s gut tighten.

“Am I correct in remembering you don’t normally invite others over when it’s movie night?” Len deflected.

“Eddie works a late shift once a week, so that’s why we have brother-sister nights. We alternate cooking. Meaning, some weeks I bring takeout.” She giggled. “This would be different. You’re more than welcome to come. We can still watch a cheesy action movie if you want. _Doom_ was classic.”

Len smiled, remembering how he and Barry had bonded over that. “Well…I’d say we could do tomorrow night, but Barry and I were planning on just us.”

“Really?” Iris leaned closer like that was the best gossip she’d heard all week. At least there were some things Barry hadn’t shared with her yet.

“I originally asked for tonight. He has plans?”

“Oh…” She leaned back with a start, suddenly deflating. “Yeah.”

Len looked to Caitlin, but she seemed tense and tight-lipped now too. “Something I should be concerned about?”

“No, it’s, um…” Iris stuttered. “Not our place to say. Barry will explain. It’s just…something about the day. Not you.”

“Okay.” That only left Len with more questions, but he got the impression that asking them wouldn’t lead him anywhere.

“We just stopped in to drop off Ronnie’s lunch before we grab some ourselves,” Caitlin said, hefting her purse that teased a peek of Tupperware inside. “Would you…?” She gestured out the door, meaning he could join them, but Len had had enough awkwardness for one day.

“I need to wait for the verdict, I’m afraid,” he nodded through the window, “but the offer is appreciated.”

Iris and Caitlin said their farewells and moved for the interior door into the garage.

“It was nice to meet you, Len,” Caitlin said. “You’ll have to join us for one of Barry’s parties sometime.”

“I doubt I could avoid it if I tried.”

They laughed again, Len lightly joining them, but as soon as they were gone, his smile dropped. Something or someone related to Barry kept following him everywhere he went in this town, which made it that much more glaring that right now Barry was absent.

And Len had no idea why.

 

XXXXX

 

Naturally, Len needed a new transmission, which would take a day or two to replace. For now, he had a loaner, and Ronnie at the body shop said he’d call once the car was ready. All Len could think about on the drive home was what a cruel joke it was that his car needed a replacement just like he had because it was old and broken and not running like it should.

Maybe that wasn’t all he could think about, but he was trying to distract himself from the itemized list going through his head of what Barry might be up to today that had made Iris’s brow scrunch in worry.

Disposing of those bodies Len suspected in his basement.

Committing grand larceny.

Seeing his parole officer because of previous murders or larceny.

Getting tested for a rare, incurable disease.

Visiting his ex.

Len was almost thankful when his phone beeped to remind him of his exercises. It was old hat now, nudging the coffee table out of the way so he could spread out on the padding of his area rug in the living room. He was sore and a few repetitions made him hiss, but nothing concerning, just routine.

The repetitive nature didn’t seem as mind-numbing when he was at his appointments with Barry, long fingers alighting at his hips or gently supporting his lower back. Len hummed thinking about it, stretching out to lie flat on the rug. Barry’s fingers were nice to imagine anywhere.

Then he pictured them curling around the hips of an unknown silhouette, and a spike of jealousy raged through him.

Barry had an ex. A long-term ex, which Len might not even have given a second thought to if Barry wasn’t tending to something secretive today that couldn’t be anything good or it wouldn’t have been accompanied by sympathetic looks.

“Mrrow?” Smudge voiced something akin to a real meow for once.

Len looked down his body to watch the cat curiously approach from his side and proceed to walk right onto his chest and sit on his sternum.

“Do you mind?”

A more plaintive squeak replied.  

“I'm fine. Just…thinking.”

Smudge flicked his tail.

“I’m not fixating. If Barry does have unfinished business with his ex, that’s none of my business. It might not even be that.”

It could be worse.

Urg, maybe Len should cancel their date tomorrow. He was supposed to be easing into retirement, not stressing over a boy he probably shouldn’t even be pursuing.

He’d really liked that kiss though, and it had been so chaste, so promising of what a deeper kiss might feel like.

Len’s phone rang on the coffee table, and Smudge dutifully chirped at him, trotting off his chest but staying close so Len could pet him before he answered the call.

“Hello?”

“You get laid yet?”

 _Mick_.

Carefully extracting himself from the floor, Len headed toward the kitchen for a glass of water—and to give Smudge, following at his heels, some treats. “Any groans you hear are only my old bones creaking.”

“Come on, Lisa told me ‘bout the pretty thing next door who helps with your _stretches_.”

Len winced at the innuendo, much as he’d been fantasizing about that. “She would have just landed.”

“Pfft, told me over Facebook while she was still on the plane.”

“She—”

“Messenger, privately, relax.”

One thing Len could count on about his sister and best friend was that they had perfected the art of teaming up against him.

“Is that Leonard?” a distant voice said—Mick's husband Ray. He came across louder as he stole the phone. “How are you? I made cupcakes. I should send you some for you and your friend. They’re gluten free!”

He always said that like it was a treat.

“I hate to break it to you, Raymond, but the local bakery may give you a run for your money.”

A gasp replied. “What a mean thing to say.”

Len smiled. Ray was so easy to tease. It made him miss his friends with a warm ache.

“If you're gonna cheat on my husband's cupcakes,” Mick said, snatching the phone back, “at least get laid too.”

“Those things are usually mutually exclusive.”

“Not the way we do it.”

Ray laughed in the background and audibly smacked Mick's shoulder.

“I’m taking things slow,” Len said, leaning over gingerly to drop Smudge’s treats to the floor without aggravating his hip, then continuing to the fridge to get his water pitcher.

“What the hell for?” Mick barked.

“There might be…unexpected baggage.”

“Besides yours?”

“Mine is expected.”

“So what? Unless it's not just sex you’re after.”

Len paused to pour his water.

“ _Len_ ,” Mick pressed. “You like this kid?”

“He's not a kid. He’s—”

“Shit, that was fast.”

“I—”

“Good for you, pal. Even more reason not to waste time.”

“How you figure?”

“Not like we have much time at our age.”

Len would have scowled and told Mick to shove it if Ray’s muted voice hadn’t said, “You’re going to live forever, shush!”

They were disgustingly cute, and Len hated them a little for it.

“Age is why I have to move slow,” he said, “in more ways than one.”

“Hey, you left the city coz you didn’t wanna sit around counting your shoulda, coulda, wouldas, scowling from the rafters of the theater like the freakin’ Phantom. Don’t start adding up your regrets with a beach view. Your hip is an obstacle, not an excuse.”

The more serious tone Mick had taken on brought Len back to years’ worth of advice they’d given each other, which tended to amount to that same phrase, whether it was Len complaining about a difficult dance move or argumentative student, or Mick struggling with a scene from one of his plays or books.

Obstacles weren’t excuses, they were something to overcome.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am. You like this neighbor boy, you go get him, buddy.”

If only everything in Len’s life could be fixed as easily as Mick’s advice made it sound. “We have a date tomorrow. I promise, no matter how tempted I may be, I won’t cancel.”

“There ya go. And we wanna hear all the sexy details after.”

Ray laughed again, then came across the line louder again as he called, “Bye, Leonard! We miss you!”

“Send me amazing cupcakes, and I’ll miss you a little more,” Len said, but he couldn’t be upset over their meddling any more than he was upset about Lisa’s.

 

XXXXX

 

A quiet night would have been nice if Len wasn’t itching to call Barry, while knowing how desperate and ridiculous that was. Barry was busy, unavailable, even if Len didn’t know why.

The sun had long since set, and he was debating going outside to read on his cushy new beach chair when he saw a figure running near the water just down from his house.

Len tensed. He didn’t need stupid teenagers or some cat burglar upsetting his night. Only most burglars didn’t have fluffy white shadows following them.

It was Nora, which meant the tall figure in the dark had to be Barry. What on earth was he doing?

Opening the sliding glass door and stepping out onto the patio, Len struggled to get a better look at his neighbor, who was seemingly running back and forth along the beach—at night, in the dark, playing with his dog.

Len could only stand there staring, until Smudge snapped him to attention by rubbing against his legs. He hadn’t let Smudge outside before but judging by the way the cat walked to the edge of the patio, tested his paw on the sand, and recoiled, Len wasn’t worried about him wandering off.

“Hey, Len!” Barry noticed him, running full pelt out of the shadows, huffing and awkward looking until he stumbled into the light.

He was _drunk_ , so obviously so that his shirt was misbuttoned, like he hadn’t been wearing one until he decided on his evening beach frolic and threw it on with jittery fingers.

“You look about three sheets gone,” Len said, stepping off the patio next to his beach chair.

“Yep!” Barry called cheerily, though a little too loud for their proximity. He flailed with imbalance and toppled over onto the sand with a laugh.

Mrs. Thompkins was sure to come out in her dressing gown to yell at them if Barry wasn’t careful, something Len had only witnessed once when he was out here with Mick, Ray, and Lisa getting rowdy.

Reaching out to help Barry up, when Barry grasped Len's hand, he feared he’d tug him down into the sand with him. Thankfully, even sloshed, Barry thought better of that and tugged only gently. Len was not about to sit in the sand, but he sat on the end of his chair to stay close.

“You break it, you…well…” He paused after tapping his hip.

“Buy it?” Barry chuckled.

“You're more lit than one of your bonfires,” Len joked. “And here I was thinking whatever you had to do today was somber. Clearly, you’re celebrating.”

Barry snorted a sloppy laugh just as Nora bounded over to him, then she noticed Smudge on the patio and tried to get him to play. Smudge batted at her a little but still wouldn't step into the sand.

“If the anniversary of my parents’ death is worth celebrating, then yes, I am!” Barry chortled, only for his expression to drop like the pit in Len's stomach.

“What?”

“That’s not funny…” Barry shook his head at himself.

“Anniversary?”

“Mmhm.” Lounging there in the sand, Barry leaned back on his hands and stretched out his long legs. “Same day too, just not the _same_ day.”

Len blinked, unsure how to steer this conversation when Barry wasn't in his right mind. “I’m not following. I know you said they passed…”

“Car accident when I was ten. Mom died. Dad didn’t. Not right away.” He looked off toward his house rather than at Len.

Barry had gone on that day in the grocery store saying he was fine with the loss of his parents, but this version of him tempered how dauntless he usually seemed, younger with the rosy glow in his cheeks, and more honest.

“He held on for six years but wasn’t ever the same. Head trauma, blind, in a wheelchair. Sometimes he forgot things too. You could have an afternoon with him, talk, be there for him, but it was…harder than he’d admit.

“When he died, Joe, Iris’s dad, told me it was a _dosage error_.” Barry grimaced at the words. “Said Dad got the wrong amount of medication that day. But it was the _same day_ , the day of the accident, the anniversary, like today, I know it wasn’t a mistake. _Fuck_.” He scrubbed across his eyes suddenly with the back of his hand. “It’s been over a decade, and I’m still a fucking mess.”

Len was close enough to reach for Barry, but a hand on his shoulder seemed too minimal. “Here I was concerned you were perfect. You never let on to any of this.”

“I can’t.” Barry turned to him with rawness Len was certain he wouldn't allow if he was sober. “I can’t. I have too many people counting on me.”

“You don’t have to put on a smile for me,” Len said gently.

“Yes, I do. It’s my job.” Barry's pout, exaggerated and ridiculous, made Len smile.

“Not here.”

With the light from Len’s house spotlighting him and the dark water behind him, Barry’s eyes looked more green than usual, maybe because they were hazy and damp, but still, they drew Len in.

Nora tackled Barry with a flourish of sand, knocking him over and licking his face. Barry giggled as he accepted the haphazard affection.

Noticing the commotion, Smudge hopped from the patio onto the chair and came up beside Len with a buck of his head into Len's arm. Len pet him in one long stroke.

“You’re the cat, and I’m the dog!” Barry exclaimed, words slurring worse than before, like everything he’d drank hadn’t quite caught up to him yet. “But we can still be friends.” He snuzzled his forehead against Nora’s, and when he released her, she bounded back over to the chair, jumping at Smudge, who bopped him on the nose in fear of being toppled onto the beach.

Barry giggled harder, then rolled onto his front to push up on hands and knees and crawl through the sand toward Len. He placed his hands on Len’s thighs when he reached him, saying playfully, “Here kitty, kitty…”

Len grabbed Barry’s wrists before he could part his knees like he seemed to want. “You know, I wondered why I didn’t remember your parents, but I’ve only had this place for six or seven years. Guess you weren’t using it after they were gone.”

“No,” Barry said, pulling away to slump back on his ankles. “Until I moved here, I hadn’t been to that house since I was a kid. It was paid off, so it just sat empty.”

“Is your father why you chose physical therapy?”

“Look at you, all interi…no. Intuition? Um… Intuitive! Ha!”

He was adorable—and very sad, sitting there in the sand.

Nora sniffed at him, but when he didn’t respond, she jumped onto the beach chair with Smudge and laid down, which prompted Smudge to begin grooming her like a mother with her kitten.

Barry smiled at them, lopsided but genuine. When his eyes shifted back to Len, they darkened with want, and Len felt like he was trapped with Barry in front of him, beneath him, and their pets behind.

“Barry…”

Hands sliding onto the chair on either side of Len’s hips this time, Barry said, “Springy,” as he pat the cushioning. “Maybe room for two?”

Len couldn’t resist licking his lips as Barry rose up from the sand and started to climb onto his lap. “Wait, I—” He hissed almost instantly, unable to support Barry’s weight, especially with those strong thighs clamping down on his incision site.

“Oh shit, sorry!” Barry scrambled off with a wobble. “Shit. _Fuck_ , I am so drunk.”

“Yes, you are.” Len had to laugh because it hadn’t hurt that badly, but Barry was a mess.

“I’m sorry,” Barry said again, steadying himself by clamping his hands down on Len’s shoulders.

“It’s okay. We just need to save this for another night.”  

“You don’t mean that. I ruined it.”

“No, you didn’t.” Taking one of Barry’s hands from his shoulder, Len brought the palm to his lips and kissed it, charmed by the owlish gaze that blinked down at him in surprise. “If I didn’t by being an asshole, then you didn’t just from having a bad night and needing someone to listen to you.”

A smile quirked at Barry’s lips as he crowded closer to Len again, getting between his legs that parted for him easily this time. “I don’t let people listen to me on this night. Ever. I just wanna be left alone so I can get drunk and not think about it.”

“Then why are you letting me listen?”

“I…don’t know,” Barry said like he really didn’t know the answer. “Maybe coz it’s the first one since I moved and…I’m supposed to be better now. I wasn’t as better…as _good_ , in the city. That’s why I had to leave. New beginnings. Like you.” He smiled dopily, twining his arms around Len’s neck. “You know what was the last straw that got me to leave my ex?”

That didn't seem like something to smirk about while wrapping arms around someone else, but Len was too riveted to care.

“He said I was never gonna be happy if I didn’t learn to move on. He meant coz I get like this every year thinking about Mom and Dad, but it’s like I suddenly woke up and realized I was miserable and playing it safe coz I was too afraid to move on from him.

“Not anymore. No more not taking chances or not going after what I want. Which probably sounds pathetic coming from a drunk.”

“No.” Len tentatively reached for Barry's waist. “It doesn’t sound pathetic.”

“I’m only this bad once a year. I’m allowed once a year, right?”

“You’re allowed whatever you need. Like you keep preaching to everyone else, _Doc_.”

Barry laughed, crowding closer to press his forehead to Len's like he had with Nora. He smelled like beer, but Len didn't care. “At first, I thought you were pretty and interesting, and I just wanted to kiss you. But I really like you, Len.”

“I like you too, Barry,” Len said, circling his thumbs at Barry's hips.

Barry's forehead was still against his, eyes dropping to Len's lips. He was going to kiss him now, and Len wasn't sure he had the will to stop him, but before their lips could touch, Barry pulled back with a whine.

“Urg…the beach is kinda spinning.”

No kisses tonight.

“Come on,” Len said, pushing Barry back so he could stand, but hanging onto him and looping an arm around his waist to help him walk. He couldn't carry Barry, but he could manage this much.

Smudge and Nora followed them inside without prompting, and Len got Barry to the sofa, still somewhat of a parody of their first night. Barry had gone quiet, sleepy and nauseous looking. While he didn't seem ready to hurl, Len got him water anyway.

Barry hummed more than he said thank you, only uttering a soft, “Len,” with a smile. When Len refilled the glass and came back, Barry had passed out on the cushions.

After setting the water on the coffee table for later, Len situated Barry more carefully, covered him with a blanket, and smiled at how immediately Nora and Smudge both snuggled onto the sofa with him.

Everyone had their personal traumas to get over; Len hardly had the monopoly on that. Some were just harder to see on the surface.

 

XXXXX

 

Barry woke with a groan the next morning just as Len was finishing making them coffee. Nora had stayed with Barry until Len let her out when he first woke up. Smudge had eventually gone to bed with Len. They’d both gotten cat food for breakfast, but Nora didn't seem to mind.

“Where…?” Barry mumbled groggily, his disheveled head peeking up from the sofa, usually perfect hair sticking up all sorts of directions. Recognition dawned on him slowly, the memories flooding back as he looked at Len in the kitchen. “Oh god… I didn't throw up on you, did I?”

“You'd be waking up on my beach chair if you had.”

“I am so sorry, Len. I am the worst, I…” Barry swayed, looking green as he tried to find even footing after standing. “I am not gonna throw up, I am not gonna throw up…” he chanted.

Len hoped he was right. He didn’t fancy replacing his sofa or rug. “Come get coffee. I’m frying up some greasy eggs on toast.”

Another groan, Barry stabilizing as he ran a hand back through his messy hair. “How can that sound awful and fantastic at the same time?”

“Wonders of a truly earned hangover.”

Barry laughed helplessly, the smile sincere before it soured as he trudged over to Len. His shirt was still misbuttoned, and he took notice with a sneer, but simply sagged down onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “I am so sorry.”

“I should be sorry,” Len said, pushing a mug of black coffee toward him. “Out of cream and sugar.”

“Figures. Got any ice cream?”

Len gawked at him.

“Totally sober now, I promise. Ice cream does the job of both. You'll have to reheat the coffee in the microwave after, but it works in a pinch.”

Since Len had already started the eggs, he moved to the freezer to pull out a small, half-eaten tub of vanilla. Meanwhile, Barry cradled his head but looked up with a weak smile when Len lopped a scoop of ice cream into his mug. He stirred it for him, letting it melt, did the same with his own mug of coffee, then brought them to the microwave to make hot again.

The eggs were nearly done when the coffee beeped, scrambled, mixed with cheddar and sriracha. Len could always multitask in the kitchen, putting the toast on plates in wait for the finished eggs, and bringing over their slightly less black coffee for a taste.

It was better than normal cream and sugar, and a terrible trick to have been taught when lately Len had been craving all his worst vices.

“Is there anything you’re not good at?” Len asked as they enjoyed their first sips.

“You can still ask that after last night?” Barry rubbed his temples, never quite keeping his eyes open fully.

“Yes,” Len said, as he scooped the eggs onto the toast and brought over their breakfast to enjoy at the counter, since it was unlikely Barry would want to move any time soon, even just over to the dining room table.

Though Barry scowled at having food in front of him, he immediately took a heaping bite, banishing some of his nausea with the first burst of sustenance to soak up the remaining liquor in his system. “Bake,” he said after another mouthful. “I’m a terrible baker. Once, I made an angel food cake that came out a pancake. Why do you think Iris married Eddie? So she can have all her meals covered.” He snickered, not his normal self by far, but trying.

They didn’t talk much after that, Barry relegated to slow mumbles and winces, working through his hangover, but he still thanked Len when he saw Nora playing with Smudge, and Len explained that she’d already been fed and let outside.

Barry stared at his empty plate after finishing, up in his head, so Len refilled their coffees with another round a la mode. “I'm really sorry I dumped all that on you last night,” he said quietly.  

“Think nothing of it. Made us even.”

“Not even close,” Barry said viciously, angry at himself and not looking at Len.

“Honestly, it was refreshing.” Len smiled when Barry threw him a skeptical glance. “I don't mind learning more about you. Your parents. Your pain. Even your ex.”

That cracked a smile. “Oliver. He's a good guy. A great guy. We still talk, and I hope we’ll always be friends, but he was not the love of my life.”

Yesterday, that would have been all Len needed to hear. Today, he felt like he was worse off somehow than all his speculations about Barry being the village serial killer.

The brokenness Len hadn’t seen until last night, aside from the briefest flash when Barry first said that yesterday would be a bad day to get together, was plain and worsening on his face now.

“Maybe you just have terrible taste in men,” Len tried to weedle another smile.

It worked but didn’t last long. “I'm getting better at it, just not sure I’m much of a catch in return.” With a final longing glance at Len, he pushed off the stool, not wobbling this time, though his brow still knit with pain.

“Where are you—?”

“I need to take care of my pounding head and cancel my appointments for the day.”

“You didn't do that ahead of time?” Len leaned across the counter to hold Barry there just a little longer.

Barry’s eyes were the most beautiful shade of green, but they were sad. Len couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed until now, but maybe Barry was just that good at hiding it. “I canceled the morning ones. I thought I'd be okay with my afternoon sessions. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Rain check on our date then?”

“Oh shit.” Barry cringed, struggling for how to reply. “I…”

“Another time,” Len assured him.

“Yeah…” But the way Barry said that made Len think he didn’t mean it.

“Barry, it really is fine. We all have bad days.”

Barry smiled, tight and false, like he was merely appeasing Len by not arguing.  

There was a moment with Barry still standing close when his eyes fell to Len’s lips, and Len thought, horrible morning breath or not, if Barry tried to kiss him, he’d let him.

But not this time. Barry pulled away, and Len didn’t know how to give chase.

“Bye, Len. Thanks for everything.”

Something new had broken, far worse than Len snapping the other day. Barry— _Barry_ was broken and didn’t want to drag Len into his mess of shards, even though Len was nothing but pieces too.

He should say something, anything to keep Barry from leaving like this, but all he got out was, “Bye, Barry,” before the door closed behind him and Nora.

Len sank onto the sofa that should have smelled like booze and sweat but only smelled like Barry, just as Smudge hopped onto the coffee table with a judging flick of his tail, as if to say, _what an idiot you are for not kissing Barry yourself_.

“Shut up. I know.”

 

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all, thank you so much!

Len was sorely tempted to skip his exercises Wednesday if he wasn’t going to see Barry for his official physical therapy, but he knew he was being silly and would only hurt himself in the end. He still felt empty, a dull ache in the pit of his stomach lingering all day, knowing things were off between him and Barry again but unsure how to fix it.

When he hadn’t heard anything from Barry by later in the day on Thursday, he texted him.

_Don’t forget about our date. You owe me that raincheck._

Barry’s response came almost immediately. _Now isn’t the best time. I’ll let you know._

Dismissal—again.

Len got the call to pick up his car and half expected to run into Barry there, or at least Iris or Caitlin. No such luck. He considered saying something to Ronnie, since they were friends too, but that just felt desperate, and he wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

_Is Barry avoiding me? Does he still like me?_

He might as well have passed Ronnie a note with check-boxes for yes, no, or maybe.

By Friday, there was nothing new, but Len had physical therapy in the afternoon. They had to see each other, no avoiding, so Len decided to soften the awkwardness by bringing along the cupcakes Ray had sent him.

Of course, Ray had taken Len’s joke seriously and sent a dozen. Anyone who didn’t know they were gluten free wouldn’t have been able to guess; they were amazing, though Len was tempted to try a cupcake from Eddie’s bakery to compare and tease Ray a little more.

“Hey, Len. Come on back,” Barry greeted him at the health center with an achingly professional smile. “Let’s start in the exam room today since we skipped the last couple times and missed Wednesday.”

Len followed him, box of cupcakes in hand. He could wait until they no longer had the audience of Betsy before he started in, but he was set on getting Barry to talk to him instead of—

“Listen, Len, I’m sorry about the other night, but it reminded me that a patient and therapist getting romantically involved can be complicated, difficult to know when lines are being crossed, you know? I think it would be best if we just stay friends.”

“Oh.” Len deflated before he’d even said ‘hello’. What else could he say to that?

“What do you have there?” Barry asked, finally noticing the box, since he’d been avoiding looking at Len.

“Cupcakes. Peace offering,” Len said, stiff and lost and utterly thrown by being rejected so thoroughly.

“You’re not the one who needs to make peace,” Barry said, averting his eyes again. “Maybe we can have one after we’re done today. We should get started though, make the most of our time.”

“Right.” So Barry could get rid of him, or at least that’s what it felt like.

Len let Barry take the box and set it on the desk out of the way as he got up on the table, going through the motions clinically, agonizingly clinical and routine, like Len was just another patient.

What was he supposed to do when Barry had already shot him down? Beg? He’d been the one pushing Barry away initially. He felt so foolish now.

If Len experienced any discomfort during his exercises, he didn’t notice. Their time seemed to be over early despite starting with the exam, like they’d rushed without realizing it. Still, the girl with magenta in her hair and a matching leg came in like the other day, waving at Len as she entered.

“Mouse King!” she called.

“What?” Barry said with a laugh.

“I didn’t get his name before.” She shrugged.

“Didn’t get yours either, _Nutcracker_.”

“I’m Frankie.”

“Len.”

She shrugged again. “Still gonna call you Mouse King.”

Len chuckled, calling to stop her before she could situate herself at the walking station. “Miss Nutcracker! Help yourself to one of those cupcakes.” They’d set the box against the wall.

“Cupcakes?” Frankie repeated, managing better on her leg when she had a worthwhile goal. She had to drop her crutches and ease herself to the floor to get at the box, but she did so smoothly.

“Bartholomew!” Betsy stuck her head in the room. “Phone call. Patient emergency from you know who.” The way she drawled ‘you know who' and ‘emergency’ told Len it was anything but, and Barry’s sigh said the same.

“Sorry, Len.”

“We’re done anyway. Go on. Maybe I’ll have a cupcake myself before I go. I’m leaving them with you, after all.”

Barry smiled, but it was genuine for only a moment before it faltered, and he looked at Len with longing he didn’t seem to want to act on anymore. “Bye, Len. See you Monday.”

Monday, because this was all they could be to each other anymore, no word of weekend plans, nothing more than friends.

It didn’t feel like being friends. Usually when Len screwed up a friendship or budding relationship, he knew what he’d done wrong. He had known initially—he was an ass. But Barry had forgiven him for that and now…

Len sank to the floor on the other side of the cupcake box with far less grace than Frankie had, but eventually, they sat parallel with the box between them. Frankie had chosen a cupcake with pink frosting. Len went for lemon. He imagined Barry would claim a chocolate peanut butter, but then, he might not know him as well as he thought.

“What’s with you two?” Frankie asked. She was busy turning her cupcake into a sandwich, ripping off the bottom to squish the frosting between two halves. Ray would have been horrified, so Len decided to do the same. “Last time, Barry had this, like, dopey smile on his face the whole time after you left. Did you two have a fight or something? I thought you were a thing, or whatever, by the way he was mooning.”

“Kids still say ‘mooning’?”

Frankie gave him one of those long looks teenagers had been perfecting for generations to let their elders know how lame they are.

“We’re not a thing,” Len said sourly. “Don’t think we’re going to become one either.”

“Why not?”

Len took a bite of his cupcake sandwich—delicious, even better defiled this way since it ensured equal frosting distribution. 

Maybe it was the comradery shared in Frankie being one of the few who could understand what starting over felt like, maybe it was the sugary frosting filling Len with dopamine, but he found the words leave him without struggle.

“Barry had a tough night the other day, showed a side of himself he usually hides.”

“The sad side?”

“You know about that?”

“Not like, details, but someone who's that happy all the time is usually hiding more pain than most people.”

“How insightful of you.” Len cast her a curious look.

Another shrug, still typical preteen, but impressive nonetheless, enough that Len felt comfortable telling her more.

“I think it made him feel too vulnerable that I saw him like that.”

“When was it?”

“Tuesday night.”

“Give him the weekend to shake it off, then try again. He’ll be better.” She finished her cupcake in one large bite, smearing pink frosting on her lips that she chased with her tongue.

“Just like that?”

“Whatever sadness it is, and you don’t gotta tell me, but…I’m sure _that_ won’t be better, but after some time to realize he’s being stupid, he’ll want to make up. He likes you.”

Len finished his cupcake as well, tempted to steal another just to hide in it, which was exactly why he planned to leave them here. “You make it sound easy. Everyone outside a situation makes fixing it sound easy. But it doesn’t work that way. Like my hip. I’m never going to dance the way I used to, that’s just fact.”

“Yeah, well, Barry isn’t your hip. And don’t be feeling sorry for yourself. That’s just complaining for complaining’s sake.” She smirked, throwing his own words back at him. Then her smug expression twitched. “I mean…I’ll never dance again either.” She looked down at her mismatched legs with a sneer.

“Once you get the hang of that thing,” Len said, “you’ll be able to dance better than me. Even if you do take it off at night, it’ll feel like a part of you eventually.”

“You really think so?” She looked at him with so much youthful hope, Len had to nod. “Would you maybe…show me sometime? When I’m better at this?”

“To _dance_? Uh… Not being able to show much anymore is sort of my problem.”

“You could still try. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”

Regarding the young girl beside him, Len imagined her watching recordings of _The Nutcracker_ , dreaming of being a dancer or figure skater or even just twirling about for fun, and now all that was fantasy, leaving her longing for any way she could recapture that spark of wonder.

He couldn’t snuff it out like a cold gust of wind. She wasn’t one of his students or casted actors turning up their noses at criticism.

“Tell ya what, you get the walking down, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Really? Thanks, Mouse King.”

“Bested me again, Nutcracker.” Len bowed his head at her.

Frankie was all smiles by the time Barry came back. Len told her she could take another cupcake home if she wanted but that it was Barry’s job to make sure she didn’t pilfer more than that. The rest Barry could enjoy himself or pass around to his coworkers.

“Are you sure—”

“Enjoy them, I’ve ruined my diet enough,” Len said, heading out with a wave to Frankie as acknowledgment that he planned to take her advice. “See you Monday, Barry.”

 

XXXXX

 

Len would have followed through with his plan too, if on Monday, Barry hadn’t cancelled his appointment.

Apparently, it was another emergency with a patient. Maybe the same patient from Friday—maybe fabricated to have a longer break from seeing Len.

He was probably being paranoid, but it didn’t help that Mick and Lisa kept texting him, asking how things were going with his ‘neighbor boy’. Len tried to stall by saying Barry had been busy with work, nothing of importance to report yet, but if come Wednesday’s appointment, Cisco or Caitlin peeked out to see Len, transferring him from Barry’s care for good, he doubted he could recover from that.

They wouldn’t be friends, they wouldn't be anything worth cultivating, just neighbors who occasionally waved in passing at the supermarket.

Len was so up in his head, thinking of his remaining options or if he should simply give up, that he wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to what he was doing—while chopping vegetables for dinner.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed when he took a chunk out of his thumb. “Shit, shit…”

Smudge squeaked at him plaintively, since it was his dinner time too, but Len had to ignore him at first, hurrying to the sink to rinse his stinging wound and wrap it as best he could. The chunk was still attached but not by much.

“Sorry, buddy, I think dinner requires a detour.” He dumped the vegetables in the trash, put away everything else, and gave Smudge dry food to tied him over. He could have his wet food later. Len had to drive himself to the hospital.

At least at the hospital he wouldn’t have to worry about running into Barry or any of his friends—he thought foolishly while in the waiting room until the nurse called his name with a very familiar voice.

“I was about to clock out for the day, but for you, I figured I could make an exception.”

Iris—the _nurse_ —in scrubs a deep burgundy instead of the seafoam green from the health center. Len shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Before you ask,” he said once they were back in the exam room, “it was sheer distraction and stupidity while making dinner.”

“No judgment here.” She chuckled. “Let’s take a look.”

Len did need stitches, only four, Iris thought after inspecting it, but it would still make everyday chores a pain for a while, which was difficult enough with his hip. 

“Well then, no knife work or operating heavy machinery while distracted and stupid,” Iris chided him good-naturedly. “Would the cause of either of those things have anything to do with what had Barry moping all weekend?”

“He was moping?” Len asked with an edge he hoped didn’t sound too eager.

“Vegging around the house _pathetic_ ,” she confirmed. “I expect that this time of year, but with you…I hoped he might get out of his funk a little sooner. Did he get the chance to tell you about any of it?”

“More like word-vomited all over me. Thankfully, despite how trashed he was running around on the beach that night, no actual vomit followed.”

“Oh god, seriously? Is that why you didn’t go on your date? He wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I should have known he’d get weird like this given the time of year, but that’s all it is—bad timing. You know what,” she stood abruptly with Len's chart clutched to her chest, “you’re coming home with me.”

“Uh… Little old to be adopted, don't you think?”

“Barry is coming over for dinner.” She grabbed his wrist to tug him off the exam table. “And so are you.”

“Oh, I’m not sure ambushing him—"

“It’s not an ambush, it’s…group therapy.”

Len snorted.

“Unless you’re really not interested and would rather end things here.” Iris let his wrist go but hovered near the door expectantly.

Giving it one more try with Barry did sound better than going home to ruined dinner alone—aside from his cat.

“Why not?” Len said, feeling brave and stupid, which was far better than distracted and stupid. “But we're stopping at the pharmacy to refill my pain meds before this numbness wears off.” He waved his bandaged hand at her.

Iris practically squealed. “Just give me ten minutes to hand in your file, clock out, and change, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

 

XXXXX

 

Iris and Eddie had a lovely home, near the beach but not directly on it like Len and Barry.

 _Barry_ , who was about to be ambushed, because that's what this was no matter what Iris said.

There was nothing quite as nerve-wracking as showing up to a party uninvited, even if Len had been invited by someone and it wasn’t a party. Still, Barry’s face when Len entered the kitchen behind Iris was not encouraging.

“Len,” he said like the air had rushed out of his lungs. It had certainly rushed out of Len’s.

Barry looked incredible in a long-sleeved black shirt. Why had Len never considered how good he would look in black? Why was Barry allowed to look that good despite being startled and wary and clearly upset with his sister's audacity?

“Hi!” Eddie cried with exaggerated exuberance, wearing a button-down and also quite handsome considering the last time Len had seen him he’d been in an apron. “It’s good to see you again, Len. Are you joining us for dinner?”

“Iris insisted after I ruined my own dinner plans.” Len raised his bandaged thumb.

“Oh my god,” Barry’s disapproval vanished in lieu of concern, “what happened to your hand? Did you need stitches?” He flew to Len’s side to take his wrist and inspect his hand like he’d been compelled by a force entirely outside his control.

Len’s heart trip-hammered at the contact, which was ridiculous when Barry touched him all the time, had touched him just last Friday at their appointment, but that had been necessity not compulsion.

“Who would have guessed your sister would be the one to sew me up? Actually, _I_ should have. This town is incessantly small.”

Barry laughed, then seemed to realize he was holding Len's hand and shrank away. “I, uhh… heard about your car too. Why didn’t you mention it?”

“Didn’t seem important.”

“Sure. I guess there were worse things.” Barry glanced away.  

“Barry…”

“Why don’t you two set the table?” Iris came forward when Len trailed off into silence. “I’m starved. Thanks for making dinner, sweetie.” She turned to Eddie to kiss his cheek.

Eddie grinned like they were still in their courting days. “Barry helped too.”

Iris’s ploy to get Len and Barry alone while setting the table only amounted in small talk.

_“How’s your car?”_

_“How did you get that cut?”_

_“Did Lisa make it back to the city okay?”_

With the last one, Len had to remind Barry that they’d already discussed that on Friday—during another round of stilted small talk when the silence had stretched too long. 

The dining room had the type of table that sat four but could accommodate more when extended with a leaf. As it was, Len and Barry sat kiddie-corner as the delicious smelling chicken piccata was served, but as good as dinner proved to be, the situation seemed a failure. If Len wanted to get Barry to drop the walls he’d erected, he needed to push harder.

“So, Barry, was today the same emergency patient as Friday?” he asked.

“Yes,” Barry said with a groan, twisting the pasta beneath his chicken expertly around his fork. At least Len could tell it hadn’t been a made-up excuse. “She’s recovering from back surgery, and I am totally sympathetic, but she is getting chronic now with the tiny little things she comes in for. I’m trying to ease her mind and ease her off thinking she needs a checkup every time she feels a twinge, but she’s this super sweet old lady without any family and—”

“And Barry is a pushover,” Iris filled in.

“She’s eighty-five!”

They all laughed, and Len had to comment, “Ignoring HIPAA again, are we?”

“Technically not a violation unless I give identifying information about the patient,” Barry said with practiced ease. “Did I say she? Coz I meant _them_.”

They laughed again. Barry was so charming without trying, especially when he was relaxed. That part of him wasn’t fabricated, he just had sorrow in him that crept up from time to time to mask the rest. Len liked knowing that, because it rounded Barry out as someone real and within his grasp, if he could only convince him to give this another try.

“I hope you shared those cupcakes,” he said. “Or did you hoard them all to yourself?”

Barry waved his hand frantically beside his plate like trying to get Len to backtrack.

“Um…”

“Cupcakes? From where?” Eddie zeroed in on Len.

Barry and Iris both sighed.

“We don’t talk about outside baked goods in this house,” Barry said in an over-the-top whisper.

“I’m not jealous,” Eddie balked in a way that betrayed his lie. “I’m curious.”

“A friend from the city sent them to me,” Len explained. “He has celiac disease, so everything he makes is gluten free.”

“Those were gluten free? Wow.” Barry jumped when Eddie’s attention snapped to him. “I mean…they were fine. You never make gluten free anyway, you always say it’s impossible to get things moist enough.”

“It is! Or it’s supposed to be…” Eddie trailed off with a grumble.

“You and Raymond will have to meet sometime,” Len said. “Should be entertaining. You’ll either claw each other’s eyes out or get along like gangbusters.”

That teased out a smile again—from Eddie and Barry.

“When theater season calms down for his husband, I’m sure they’ll be out to visit. Tell me, Eddie, only sensitive about outside baked goods around your loved ones? You don’t mind Barry cooking for your wife on their sibling nights?”

“Oh, Barry doesn’t count.”

“Thanks?” Barry shot him a funny look.

“You know what I mean. The way to anyone’s heart is through their stomach, but you’re not exactly a threat. She’s your sister!”

“Honey,” Iris said with a judging head tilt while fighting a smile, “a married gay man who lives in the city and sent Barry’s neighbor cupcakes isn’t going to steal me away either.”

“I know, I just…like being everyone’s only main sugar supplier,” he said like it was something illicit—and considering how addictive sugar was, it really should be.

“Eddie,” Len stole his attention again, “I vow to you now, you will be my main supplier from now on whenever I need a _fix_. But when Ray visits, I will disavow all knowledge of your existence.”

The table erupted into laughter again.

“In all seriousness, you don’t mind missing movie night?” Len asked.

“Not for those movies. I mean, I like action and cheesy ridiculousness fine, but I can also live without it.”

“His one flaw,” Iris said dreamily. “Thankfully, I still love him.” She leaned over the corner of the table to kiss him on the mouth this time.

They were very cute, natural, the kind of easy couple everyone not in a relationship hated. Len knew he probably looked at their interaction with more longing than he should have, but then he began to feel eyes on him, and there was only one person they could belong to.

Barry had dropped his eyes to his food by the time Len glanced over. His smile was gone now, replaced with a shade of sadness. Once again, all the good will they’d cultivated in the past few minutes had dwindled to nothing in an instant.

Len wasn’t sure if pushing further was worth it if Barry was intent on ending things. He had to accept Barry’s wishes, whatever they may be, he’d just hoped Barry would change his mind like Frankie and Iris had hoped too.

Once they finished eating, Len tried to help clear away the table, but Iris told him to stay put. They’d have coffee and dessert soon, and as the guest, Len was meant to be served.

Eddie got a phone call, a supplier for his bakery sounded like, so he took it upstairs, while Iris and Barry went into the kitchen to put everything away. It wasn’t long before Len got antsy, afraid he’d run for the door if left to his thoughts for too long, so he wandered out of the dining area through the archway into the living room.

It was homey, warm, all plush furniture and photographs, not sterile and artsy the way Len kept things. As he moved past the mantelpiece, he noticed it was filled with photographs from Iris and Eddie’s wedding, mostly just the two of them, their wedding party, or closer friends and family.

Which of course included Barry, very handsome in a tux from five or so years ago. In several photos, there was another man near Barry, usually touching him, or Barry was hanging onto his arm. That had to be his boyfriend—now ex.

Oliver.

Len could admit the man was attractive. Built. Blond. Steely. Like an underwear model. But then, Barry was equally as attractive in Len’s mind, if more lean than obvious muscle. Oliver had a look to him like he wasn’t comfortable smiling, like his natural state was surly, next to Barry’s blinding jubilance, preferring anonymity to goofing off in front of the camera.

Maybe Barry had a type.

Len couldn’t help but notice that Barry seemed happier in photos with just Iris and Eddie though, or with other friends, always more strained when he was next to Oliver, like he’d already known back then that it wasn’t a relationship he wanted to last forever.

A returning ex wasn’t what Len had to worry about, but he had plenty of other things standing in his way.

“Maybe I _am_ mad,” Barry’s voice carried from the kitchen.

Through the dining room, the door kept out any sound, but now Len stood around the other side at the end of the living room. He paused to listen.

“You didn’t even warn me.”

“You left me little choice with how you were brooding the past few days,” Iris said. “Why ruin things with Len before they’ve even started? You were so happy to—”

“I can’t, Iris. Not now. I shouldn’t have gone after him at all. I don’t even know him that well.”

“Barry Allen, you said you had more chemistry with Len the first day you met than you ever felt with Oliver. Is that feeling gone?”

“...No,” Barry said quietly.

“Then stop being an idiot.”

“I just…don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why? Because he saw the real you?”

“What if he's just being nice?” Barry echoed what Len had been worried about far too many times lately.

“He didn't come to dinner just to be nice, Barry.”

The pause that followed allowed Len to relax against the wall, a smile tugging at his lips with the rekindling of hope.

“I’m not always a ray of sunshine,” Barry grumbled.

“So? Who is? Who needs to be? Stop being such a hypocrite.”

“I am being a hypocrite, aren’t I?”

“Yep.”

“I’m doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t when I moved here.”

“Yep.”

Len grinned at the clipped way Iris answered and understood why she and Lisa had gotten along so well.

“It was easier chasing Len when he kept playing hard to get. Stupid, I know, but now, he’s chasing me, even after seeing me like that, and I…I am freaking myself out. I am so lame.”

“No,” Iris giggled. “Well, yes. But all that matters, is do you like him?”

Len’s heart fluttered like when Barry grasped his hand in the kitchen until he heard the words, “Yeah, I do.”

“Hey, Len. Ready for dessert?” Eddie appeared, making Len’s heart flutter for a different reason, but he hadn’t been so loud as to draw attention from the kitchen.

It was only moments after they went back to sit at the table that Barry came out with a decadent looking chocolate cake from Eddie’s bakery, and Iris asked, “How do you take your coffee, Len?”

He couldn’t resist. “Got any ice cream?”

 

XXXXX

 

“Guess I’m a bad influence,” Barry said, following Len out to the porch after they’d finished dessert and their ‘affogato’ Eddie had informed them. Barry’s concoction had a name, though he’d seemed as surprised as Len to learn that.

“Terrible. But it made for a better dessert. I’d offer you a ride home, only…” Len indicated both their vehicles in the driveway.

“I promise I won’t race you,” Barry joked. He’d seemed more at ease ever since his conversation with Iris in the kitchen, but he was antsy now, Len could see it in the tension of his shoulders.

He leaned against the railing of the porch beside Len, the evening calm and cool and lovely, though Len still preferred Barry highlighted in moonlight glinting off water in the distance.

“Listen, I swear I didn’t cancel our appointment today to avoid you. I really did have a patient emergency.”

“I believe you. How about next time? Do you want to avoid me then?”

Barry looked down, ashamed.

“That is what you said, you know, drunk as you may have been.”

“Huh?” Barry glanced up again.

“You told me you weren’t going to avoid taking chances anymore, not when you really want something. Also,” Len leaned against the railing too, tilting his head close enough to see the flecks of gold in Barry’s eyes from the light of the porch, “I never do anything just to be nice.”

For a beat, Barry could only blink at Len, until he stuttered, “Y-you…heard all that?”

Barry was so smooth usually that Len forgot how often he tripped over himself and showed off insecurities, something Len had seen long before he'd known about Barry’s past.

“I heard, and I agree with Iris,” Len said, “but only if you want me. If the baggage between us feels too heavy, then…I get it. Funny thing about that though is I’ve heard it’s easier to carry with help. Of course, I already have Smudge, so—”

Barry’s lips were on him so quickly, Len sucked in a breath, breathing in the aftertaste of chocolate and coffee, sweet and addictive enough that he opened his mouth for more—

Just as Barry pulled away. “Shit, sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I—”

“ _Barry_ ,” Len said in a growl, though he let his actions show the gentleness of what he wanted, that he wasn’t angry, just eager.

When Barry met his eyes, still ashamed and unsure, Len reached for his face, cupping his jaw and teasing fingers along the hairs at Barry’s neck. He felt Barry shiver, and that was enough to encourage him forward.

There wasn’t anything more to say, nothing important enough to stall the momentum of Len stepping into Barry’s space and kissing _him_ this time—bold, hungry. The taste of chocolate was stronger when their tongues met, soon disappearing in the feel of each other, exploring without holding back. Len had nothing to lose but what he’d already been denied, though he hoped Barry wouldn't pull away again.

After what seemed like minutes uninterrupted, just the slow motion of their mouths and Len’s thumb smoothing along Barry’s cheekbone, it was only when Barry clutched at Len’s shirt and whimpered that they parted for breath.

“So,” Len said through an exhale, “about that date.”

Barry’s giggle was answer enough, but Len only felt relief when he heard the words, “Okay. Wednesday after your appointment to make up for last week?”

“Deal. We’ll call it a do-over.”

The smile on Barry’s face banished all his demons to the shadows where they belonged. They still lurked, but they didn’t have to take centerstage, and neither did any of Len’s.

When Len walked down the stoop to his car, he felt a lightness in his step he hadn't known in a long time. It was tempting to wait for Barry to get into his car as well, follow each other home, end up at one destination instead of two, but rather than spoil how perfect that moment had been by rushing this, Len drove away with Barry still staring after him.

 

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Date night gets a little heated. ;-)

Len stared in the mirror. He never thought he could fuss so much over what workout clothes to wear, but that’s what he needed for physical therapy, and afterward, he and Barry would be embarking on their first date.

Finally.

Sweats were not conducive to seduction though. Len reminded himself that Barry had been plenty seduced even when carrying Len inside his house bridal style, and for several sessions already with him in sweats, but today Len needed confidence that he was definitely lacking after noticing the way these particular sweats looked…unfortunate in places.

His immediate thought was to throw away the spray cheese.

And no more ice cream in his coffee.

It was silly to fret, because of course he’d put on weight when he wasn’t keeping up his old rigorous exercise routine combined with hours of dance every day. His eating habits didn’t help, but at his age, he was never going to be his old pants size again with ease.

Unlike Barry, who was in his prime and absolutely flawless.

 _No_ , Len was not going to ruin this with low self-esteem when he’d been given a second chance. He might not know what he wanted to do with his life, but if his free time was monopolized by Barry Allen for the foreseeable future, that was enough for now.

He changed his sweats anyway to something less form-fitting, just in time for his phone to buzz with a text from Lisa. He assumed it would be a teasing ‘good luck’ since he’d told her about the date.

_I wasn’t going to ask, but the show is going so well. Will you come see it this weekend?_

Len’s stomach sank. She used to hate when he went to see her perform. She’d spent most of her career in Keystone, even Coast City over Central to keep away from him and any snarky critiques he might offer, but now she was asking for him to be there. She either worried she wasn’t doing as well as she thought, felt truly proud of what she’d accomplished, or both.

But how could Len go back when it had been so short a time since his ‘retirement’? Before casting, when _Don Quixote_ was still just a planned part of the spring season, he was slated to direct, but when his hip started bothering him, he passed it to a younger choreographer.

Lisa had joked that maybe she’d finally come home for a show if he was taking a break. It hadn’t stayed just a break though.

 _I’m not trying to be mean, Lenny. I really want you to see it_ , she added when he stood there staring for a solid minute without answering.

 _I’d love to_ , Len texted back, _but I may need a doctor’s note for a plane ride with how my hip’s been behaving. Let me get back to you._

A lie, which he knew was despicable, but he needed time to think this over. His hip had been feeling better with careful attention to his stretches and medications. Even his thumb ached more than his hip most days. His hip wasn’t exactly improving though, more just maintenance. If he was careful and diligent, it didn’t hurt, but that didn’t make it easier to do the things he used to do. Even a few months or years from now wouldn’t change that he’d never…

He was doing it again, right before getting in the car to see Barry. He had to stop. When everything else was finally going his way, why did he have to dwell on things he couldn’t change?

A dull ache settled in his stomach where his nerves had been as he left the house and headed for the health center. Forcing a smile, he told himself to relax, enjoy the moment, remember that today, he got to bring Barry home with him.

“Everything okay?” Barry asked as soon as they were headed into the back. “You're not having second thoughts about tonight, are you?”

Len’s smile was obviously failing him. “Not even a little, it’s…” He sighed. No point in lying. “...Lisa.”

“Did something happen?”

“She invited me to see _Don Quixote_ this weekend.”

“Fun!” Barry spun about with his more common grin as they entered the exam room, and Len took up his spot on the table with another sigh. “Not fun?”

“Difficult. More than it should be, going back for the first time as a spectator. I knew I would at some point, of course, just…not so soon.”

The sympathetic smile that had gotten under Len’s skin far too many times reminded him now how much Barry cared. “At risk of sounding like a hypocrite again, you are allowed to not be okay. Especially this early in the healing process. Did you want a note to get out of going?” he said with a small smile, reading Len's mind, but he couldn't do that to Lisa.

“I'd be a coward and a terrible brother if I accepted that offer, tempted as I am.”

Barry chuckled.

“I’m sorry,” Len said softly.

“You don't have to be sorry. Like I said, you're allowed.”

Len smiled back at him, still feeling silly despite Barry's understanding. “I suppose you’re used to sob stories.”

“Well, yeah,” Barry settled in the chair at the desk, facing Len, “but it’s hard for me too, when there’s someone I can’t help, or when how I can help isn’t what they think they need to be happy. Losing a limb or mobility, having chronic pain, so many of the things I deal with are a big part of a person's identity, and people don’t handle losing control of their identity well.”

“Like your father.” Len’s heart broke for Barry as soon as he said it, because that sorrow was bare and potent for a moment before Barry collected himself.

“Yeah. I’m still sorry I—”

“It’s fine. Really. I’m glad I was there when you needed someone to listen.”

Len had read between the lines of what Barry said that night that part of him wondered if his father had killed himself, if maybe he’d even had help. Len couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for Barry after already losing his mother.

He would have been angry and sad and confused, and now, as an adult looking back, he wanted to understand while still feeling all those same emotions.

“Thank you,” Barry said earnestly. “You know, that might be the toughest part of my job, recognizing that sometimes I can’t save everyone. It’s hard knowing I can’t always make a difference no matter how much I try.”

That was probably the most vulnerable thing Barry had yet shared with him, which made it easy to reply, “You make a difference with me.”

There came the sunshine again with the creases of Barry's dimples. “Come on, we have to get some work done if we’re going to earn our date. You sure you don’t mind waiting for me after? Frankie’s my last patient, but that's still another hour—”

“Actually, I have an idea about that.” An idea that had struck Len just that moment.

“Oh?”

“I’ll tell you when we're done.”

They kept the exam short to get to Len's exercises, making good time once they were in the workout room, but even so, Frankie came in before Len was finished, obviously showing up early now to see him.

Instead of saying ‘hello’, Len called out loud enough for both Barry and Frankie to hear, “How about I help Miss Nutcracker with her PT today?”

“What?” Barry blinked in confusion.

“I’m not ready to dance _now_ ,” Frankie sputtered in equal shock.

“Ever hear the expression ‘sometimes you need to run before you can walk’?” Len rolled to his feet, abandoning his last set of exercises to approach Frankie.

She grabbed onto the bars of the nearest walking station but was hesitant to let her crutches fall.

“Is that why you keep talking about _The Nutcracker_?” Barry turned to Len with a creeping smile. “You're going to teach Frankie to dance?”

The poor kid looked caught between being terrified and elated.

“We’ll start small,” Len said.

There were two obvious first steps in any dancer’s repertoire that would be beneficial to someone still learning their balance. Len moved to be in front of the walking station, motioning for Frankie to come closer at his right.

“Lose the crutches. You can do what I’m about to teach you without them. If you start to fall—”

“You’ll catch me?”

“No,” Len scowled, “you can grab onto the bar behind you. Grab me, and I’ll go down with you.”

Frankie smirked.

“You too, Barry, come on.” Len waved Barry over to stand in line with him at his left, who obeyed with a crook to his smile.

After a moment, Frankie threw her crutches aside and walked—gingerly—to stand by Len.

“Slow, minimal movement, shifting your weight between your feet. Right,” he leaned onto his right foot, lifting his left slightly, “back,” he stepped back with his left behind the right, putting all of his weight there, “change,” he stepped back onto his right, bringing his left up where it had started and shifting to do the same movements on the other side.

Left, back, left, shift, right, back, right, shift. A simple ball change using the balls of his feet.

Barry likely would have picked it up quickly, but Len thought he might be feigning struggle to make Frankie less frustrated. The moves she could do, but whenever her weight was all on her prosthetic, she wobbled, panicked, and reached back for the bar or set her other foot down to keep from falling.

“I have one more move to show you today, but only if you can do the first without second guessing yourself.”

“It’s hard,” Frankie protested. “Maybe this stupid thing doesn't fit me right.”

“It fits you fine, you're just not trying hard enough.”

“I am too!”

“Think of how much more difficult this would be if you'd lost your leg above the knee?”

“ _Urg_ ,” Frankie growled, face red as she clung to the bar harder, “I have heard that so many times!”

“Yet it’s still true,” Len persisted. “Now try harder.”

Barry looked ready to intervene, surprised at Len's harsh approach, but he knew what he was doing, because he'd seen what she was capable of. The only thing holding her back was her.

Plus, she was stubborn like Lisa. Like _Len_. He could see the fire in her that proved her anger was something she could harness.

“I don't teach whiners, and I don't tolerate quitters. Again,” Len said.

Frankie let go of the bar with a huff, focused, centered herself, so that even though she wobbled doing the next ball change, she held it together.

“Frankie, you—"

“ _Shush_ ,” Len cut Barry off, then turned to offer him a wink so he’d know Len was only playing a part. “Keep your momentum going, Frankie. I expect rhythm, not sloppiness.”

Barry smirked, since it was obvious this tactic was working on her. A few minutes more, and though Frankie had to go slowly, she could successfully ball change from real to prosthetic foot without trouble.

“After that, a box step will be a breeze,” Len said.

It was, since speed didn’t matter only shifting weight and small movements.

Another few minutes passed until they were all forming boxes in time, and Len said, “If you’re really advanced, you could try a grapevine next.”

“What's that?” Frankie asked.

Len stepped away from them to demonstrate, moving across the room in a straight line with his feet crisscrossing each other in rapid succession. As it required minimal movement from his hip, he could still do so with ease.

A glance back when he reached the wall told him that Frankie was even more determined. She followed suit, stepping out away from the walking station. It was commendable how fluidly she moved once she started, picking up momentum toward Len. He thought for sure she'd barrel right into him, but she slowed, caught herself with another wobble, grinned triumphantly, and headed back the other way.

Her cockiness took its toll when she wasn’t quite as successful the opposite direction, tripping over her feet finally and toppling—

—right into Barry’s arms, where she burst into a giggle until he started laughing too.

“Not bad, Nutcracker,” Len said as he joined them.

“Can we do this again Friday?” Frankie steadied herself with only a slight teeter.

“Better keep it to once a week. I’m in PT too, remember? Besides, I’m headed to the city on Friday.”

“You are?” Barry said with a smile.

“Seems like.”

“What for?” Frankie asked.

“My sister is also a dancer, and she's performing in a ballet she’d like me to see. I wasn’t sure I was going to go.”

“You weren’t sure?” Frankie took back her crutches when Barry handed them to her but held them instead of hooking them under her arms. “Are you crazy? I’d love to see a show like that. Plus, it’s your sister. You have to go.”

“Spoken just like she would.” Len chuckled.

“It’ll be so cool.” Frankie continued toward the door holding her crutches instead of using them. Len had never seen her do that before. She moved slowly, but she was doing it, bolstered after dancing. “I’ve always wanted to see a real ballet.”

“You’ve never seen one in person?”

“Sleepy little towns like this one don’t have that much culture.” She paused to pull a vibrating cell phone from her pocket. “Oh shoot, Mom’s wondering why I’m five minutes late. Better go. Have fun, Mouse King!” She waved, finally making use of her crutches so she could hurry, though Len wondered if she needed them.

Left alone in the workout room, he turned to see Barry leaning against the wall near the row of mirrors, arms crossed and wearing a fond smile. “Isn’t he the villain of the story?”

“The role I was born for,” Len said, sauntering over to him.

“I don’t know about that.” Barry tilted his head, waiting for Len to come closer, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

A shiver shot through Len when Barry didn’t pull away immediately but shifted, so that his lips were better lined up to reach Len’s mouth. He kissed him there too, and it was easy to sink into the feeling, reminding Len of his fantasy in this very room, near these very mirrors, of Barry putting his hands on him. Len was tempted to reach for Barry’s hands now and guide them to the waistband of his sweats.

Then the door opened and one of the therapists Len wasn’t as familiar with came in with an older gentleman. They had just enough time, being behind the door, to pull apart before anyone called them out for indecent behavior. Even if there weren’t rules against Barry dating Len, he had a feeling being caught fooling around in the workout room wouldn’t be looked on favorably.

They left, and Barry went into the back to change, while Len headed for the waiting room. Caitlin and Cisco were up front by Betsy.

“Hey, Len!” Cisco greeted him. “Lisa’s show is going really well, huh?”

That would have quirked an eyebrow usually, but Len should have known better. “She's making good use of your phone number, I see.”

The darker tint to Cisco’s skin still managed an impressive blush.

“What are you and Barry doing tonight?” Caitlin asked.

Len also should have known better than to think their date would be anything less than public knowledge. Not that he minded. He leaned on the front counter since no one else was waiting. “Long walks on the beach aren't much of an option for me right now, so we’re planning a night in.”

“Oh yeah?” Cisco waggled an eyebrow, then blanched at how inappropriate that was at work, something Betsy reminded him of with a clearing of her throat. “You know what you should watch if you…Netflix and chill? If it includes Netflix,” he said in an unconvincing whisper that made Betsy roll her eyes. “ _Wet Hot American Summer_. The movie, not the prequel series, though that has its moments too.”

“I’ve never seen that,” Len said.

“Neither has Barry!”

“Cisco,” Caitlin said skeptically, “that movie is nothing but raunchy, stupid humor.”

“Sounds perfect,” Barry said, drawing Len’s attention back to the doorway.  

A few insecurities still reared their heads, thinking of what a schlub he must look like when Barry dared to come out of the back looking like _that_.

“Ready to go?”

 

XXXXX

 

Len changed when they reached the house. He had to. He didn’t shower, he hadn’t worked up that much of a sweat, but he still freshened up and put on his best pair of easy-fitting jeans and a grey sweater.

“You know we live at the beach, right?” Barry teased him when he reappeared.

“It’s still spring, and I keep my home cold.”

“I noticed. Good thing Smudge doesn’t mind, do you, fluffy boy?” Barry bent to scratch Smudge’s head, who was very happy to have him back again—and to have Nora in the house, since they’d stopped to pick her up. “So,” Barry stood, following Len into the kitchen, “what are we making for dinner?”

“Potstickers and rice. I have a recipe I haven’t made in a while that is much easier with help.”

Given Len’s recent debacle with chopping, he let Barry handle the vegetables, while he mixed the meat and made the sauce. They pinched the dough for the potstickers together when they were ready to assemble, then got everything frying, the rice already fluffed by then.

It smelled incredible, and Len could tell Barry was eager to taste the creation. He was probably the type who could eat anything and never gain a pound.

Unlike Len, who didn’t need something this rich when he should be watching his diet. He’d always had to be strict with himself to stay fit, which had been easier as a dancer, always moving, but now…

Len frowned at getting up in his head again. Why was he doing that, distracted and feeling sorry for himself right when he had something good in his grasp?

“Something wrong?” Barry asked, since Len was supposed to be flipping the potstickers for the final simmer, but he’d stopped.

“Sorry. It’s not you. Not…this. This,” he gestured between them, at Barry being there, and even had to glance into the living room at Smudge and Nora playing, “this is really good. It’s just me.”

“Lisa’s show? Your hip?”

“All of the above.” Len finished flipping the potstickers and turned down the burner, then leaned against the counter. “I guess a bad day is hard to shake. I know you know that, but I’m still sorry. I don’t want you feeling guilty about the other night. You needed it, more than I have any right to complain about being a little sore and sorry for myself.”

“That's not fair.” Barry moved to stand closer to him. “One person's pain isn't more valid than another's. You just need to recapture what you lost.”

“That’s what I can’t do. You’re helping me recover, and that’s great, but you can’t help me dance again.”

“What would you call earlier with Frankie?”

“A ball change and a box step is not the level I was used to,” Len sneered. “You can’t turn back time for me.”

“No, I can’t,” Barry said, leaning against the island parallel to Len. “It sucks, and it’s gonna suck for a long time. In fact, it might always suck because dance is always going to be something you love and miss and can’t do anymore the way you used to.”

“Don’t sugar-coat it.” Len swallowed through a thickening in his throat.

“Do you want me to sugar-coat it? I could tell you it’s going to get easier and better, but that might not be true. What I can do is help you figure out what you want the next chapter of your life to be.”

“Is that part of your physical therapy degree?” Len snorted.

“Sometimes. Do you want to know why I’m a physical therapist? Because it has nothing to do with liking physical therapy.”

“I thought…because of your father,” Len said, glad that this time, Barry’s expression didn’t darken quite as much at the mention. 

“That was part of it, but I do what I do because I like people. I like helping someone realize something about themselves they didn’t believe was possible, surpass insurmountable odds even if all that means is getting across a room a little easier—or doing a ball change.” He grinned. “I foster pets for the same reason. Because I love seeing the joy on someone’s face when they get paired with the perfect cat or dog—that joy, those brief but important moments, they’re why I do what I do.

“What was it for you?”

“Huh?” Len startled at the question.

“What made you love dancing?” Barry restated. 

“Oh. I guess…” Len unfocused his gaze, trying to think of the answer, and ended up closing his eyes as he recalled the last time he’d truly danced and lost himself in the movement. “Those moments when everything else faded away and it was just me and the motion.”

Barry’s silence made Len open his eyes, finding him smiling at him. “And what made you love it when you were showing someone else?”

“I didn’t always love that,” Len admitted, “but I suppose…getting one of them to find that moment too, seeing it on their faces, in their body, until there was nothing but the dance.”

“You can still have that,” Barry said.

“Frankie—”

“For more than just Frankie.”

Len turned to poke at the potstickers so none were still so hot that they stuck to the pan, but he glanced back over his shoulder. “How? I can’t teach if I can’t show.”

“Says who? Teach me something.” Barry pushed from the island. “Right now. Something more complicated than what you taught Frankie, without showing me what to do.”

“What?” Len laughed. That was impossible.

“I mean it,” Barry said, grabbing Len by the hand and pulling him from the kitchen to the open area left of the sofa. “Talk me through it, something doable but more involved than earlier that you wouldn’t be able to show me anyway because of your hip. I warn you though, I’ve been told I have two left feet, so you have your work cut out for you with the _best_ worst possible student.”

“Barry…” Len chuckled again, charmed by this incredible man but still certain they couldn’t do this without looking like idiots.

“Come on. Teach me.” That grin that had an edge of sadness behind it but was still genuine and hopeful and so damn beautiful got the better of Len again.

“Fine, then we’ll work on your attitude.”

“What?” Barry giggled, but if Len was going to do this, he was doing it right.

“You want to be one of my students, learn the terms and fix your posture.”

Barry snapped to attention immediately.

“Better. We’ll try front, back, and a turn. If you can’t do that, it’s hopeless.” Len looked Barry in the eyes seriously, impressed that Barry had taken on a serious visage as well, but he still had to tease, “First, when I say _attitude_ , I do not mean your annoyingly optimistic outlook on life.”

That broke Barry’s reserve with a snicker, relaxing him again, but he also smartly and immediately straightened his stance afterward.

Len’s instincts were to lift his own leg to demonstrate what he wanted Barry to do, but that would hurt, at least be sore and not the best position for his healing hip, so he had to improvise and think of how to explain something he couldn’t show.

“We need to back up. In the _lesson_.” He grabbed Barry when he made to back up physically. “First, you need to learn how to plie.”

Attitude was the simple lift of the leg, either front or back with a bend at the knee and strong rotation at the hip to bring the leg waist level or higher. Every action in ballet required the right springboard momentum, one movement leading into another to make the dance. Attitude was easier starting from a plie.

Len explained all that, and every time he wanted to show something, he had to think of the words instead. How Barry needed to bend, curve his leg, lift, straighten, curl his spine. He took direction quite well though, which Len tried not to think about with too much distraction.

Barry’s long legs made him an ideal dancer, the perfect specimen—but his coordination sucked, absolutely laughable. Even if Len had been able to show the moves, it would have taken him twice as long to teach Barry something that should have been easy.

Yet he didn’t find himself growing frustrated. Like with Frankie, he could see in Barry someone who honestly wanted to learn—maybe more so for Len’s sake in Barry’s case—but it made him not want to give up either.

Plie, attitude lift forward, down, plie, attitude lift back, swing forward to step, step, step into an attitude turn, and plie to finish. Elegant and direct.  

When Barry finally managed it without falling into Len’s arms or flailing back toward the sofa, it had been almost half an hour. Only when noticing the clock did Len realize how hungry he was, but Barry, two left feet and all, had completed the moves like a pro.

“Still a terrible influence,” Len said once they were digging into their potstickers, eating at the coffee table to watch the movie. “These should not have had to be warmed up in the microwave.”

“They still taste good.”

They did, but Len kind of wanted to push Barry over onto the cushions for how much he was grinning in triumph.

“See,” Barry said smugly, “it took longer, but you did it, and you can do it again.”

“Nice thought, but the Central City ballet won’t accept that sort of teaching.”

“So, teach around here. You know, I have a class I teach on calisthenics for people without full range of motion that would be perfect.”

“Like wheelchair bound, missing limbs…” Len trailed off skeptically.

“Leprosy, things like that.”

“Funny.”

“You’re the one making it out to be something worth feeling shame over.”

“I don’t mean them,” Len felt the twinge of guilt he deserved for that, picking at his food, “I just hate feeling like an invalid.”

“Pretty sure most of my class would punch you in the nuts for calling them invalids.” Barry smiled brightly, making Len laugh again. “They’d also appreciate learning something new.”

He was so insistent, so amazingly positive when trying to help someone else, even though he wasn’t always successful at inspiring himself.

We are our own worst critics, Len thought, always.  

“How do I teach people how to dance who can’t…dance?”

“Same way you taught me and Frankie. You try, and no matter how many times you fail, you keep trying.”

“Is that a pact?” Len grinned at Barry wryly. “To not let either of us get so frustrated or afraid that we stop trying?”

The sadness peeked through Barry’s expression again, mostly because he seemed surprised, but then he warmed, smiling and raising his wine glass, a red this time, and Len did the same. “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked.

“You might be onto something with the teaching,” Len admitted after a pleasant sip, “but right now, I’m hungry and sore and ready for relaxation via a stupid, raunchy movie.” He indicated _Wet Hot American Summer_ on his Netflix screen. “How about my life path waits until later?”

“You’re sore?” Barry asked with a playful side-eye. “Maybe after we eat, you’ll finally let me offer my massage skills.”

Len was not about to say no to that tonight.

They started the movie, and after they’d cleaned their plates and set them in the sink, Barry had him lie on his front on the sofa, while he sat poised on the edge and began massaging Len’s calves.

Not the sexiest of body parts, but then, Barry had still had Len strip off his jeans down to his briefs.

“It helps prevent blood clots,” Barry said, ever the professional, even as he paused to laugh at the film.

Len was more interested in the movement of Barry’s hands than what they were watching. Even Smudge and Nora had settled down, and he simply wanted to enjoy this.

“Then there’s potential scar tissue to loosen up or areas of over-contraction. Like hamstrings.” Barry massaged up the back of Len’s legs. “Quads…” He moved to the front, slipping between Len’s thighs and the cushion. “Really anywhere that might be hyper-toned to protect you while healing.” Then, careful around the incision site from surgery, he moved back around to massage Len’s glutes.

“Hyper-toned, is it?” Len sighed into the feeling of Barry’s hands on his ass.

“Feels like it to me.”

Maybe he wasn’t being too professional right now.

Barry worked back down Len’s hamstrings, down his calves and up again, around once more to the quads so Len had to raise his hips to give him better access, and then…slid one hand around his inner thigh and up between his legs.

Len was already hard, had been for about five minutes, but it wasn’t as if Barry wasn’t finding exactly what he was looking for.

“Feel like turning over?” Barry whispered.

Mourning the loss of Barry’s fingers as soon as they retracted, Len shifted swiftly until he lay on his back. “Taking advantage of your patient, Doc?” he teased when Barry reached again to palm him through his underwear, tracing down his length.

“Just checking all pertinent areas for injury,” Barry teased back, lifting Len’s bandaged thumb with his other hand. “Like this. You poor thing. Pretty clumsy for someone so graceful.”

“Asshole.”

“Now, now, I thought we agreed you win the asshole award.”

Len could only half chuckle, breath catching and speeding up as Barry squeezed and started to stroke him more rhythmically. Len’s thumb he handled with gentler care.

“Mmm…maybe I should check the other one, just to be sure you haven’t hurt that one too.” He set Len’s hand down and took up the other, bringing the wound-free thumb to his lips and sucking it into his mouth.

Len moaned, hips starting to arch into Barry’s touch, with his muscles tightening.

Which caused him to hiss at a spike of pain, not as bad as a few weeks ago, but still aggravating.

“I got you,” Barry said quietly, the movie mostly forgotten now, “you just need to relax. Who better to know ways around your injury than your physical therapist?” His grin was devious as he licked around Len’s thumb and then moved to suck down the next finger, eventually releasing it with a lewd pop. “I have some ideas. We don’t have to rush. How about, tonight, I make this really easy on you?”

Setting Len’s hand down again, Barry paused his strokes to reach for the waistband of Len’s shorts. Len lifted to accommodate, happy to allow Barry to slide them down his legs. Barry pushed up his shirt a little too, stirring that unfair voice of insecurity to remind Len of the pudge there, not terrible, but not the flat expanse of muscle he used to have.

He instinctively sucked in his stomach at Barry’s touch but felt silly when Barry fluttered his fingers there with an expression of undiluted want, not seeing anything he didn’t like.

His other hand curled around Len’s base, his lips parting at his descent to suck Len down like he’d done to his finger.

Len wanted to tighten his muscles so badly, but that’s what would hurt. He had to relax like Barry had said, relax and let Barry do the work.

And oh, what careful, wonderful work, one hand always at Len's base or massaging his balls, the other petting his stomach or sliding lower to more thoroughly massage his glutes again and down his thigh, healing him and pleasuring him in the same actions.

Over the weeks, Len had managed a few messy, furtive releases in the shower, but this was the first time in a long time he’d had a partner, especially someone with such a talented tongue.

Barry sucked and hollowed his cheeks, picking up the pace when Len’s breath grew shorter. As a warning that he was close, Len dragged his fingers through Barry’s hair and tugged, prompting Barry to grin up at him and switch to using his hand, pumping fast and slick and _tight_ —

Len finished with a gasp and all-over shudder. He had so needed that.

“Think you’ll be more relaxed for Friday?” Barry said impishly, using a napkin from dinner to clean his hand and Len’s stomach.

Len chuckled, a puddle on the cushions, content as a—he chuckled again— _cat_.

“Oh yes,” he said, “but we’re not done. I need to return the favor.”

“There aren’t too many positions that’ll be nice for your hip,” Barry said, leaving the soiled but folded napkin on the coffee table.

“I can think of one. I just need to sit.” Len did so, shimmying back into his shorts, but when Barry tried to settle into the cushion beside him, he shook his head and nodded for Barry to stand. “And you need to work on your balance.”

Barry scrunched his brow, but once he was in front of Len, and Len started to undo his jeans, the intent became clear. Len wouldn’t have to move his hip at all in this position, and all Barry had to do was hold on, which he did with parted, reddened lips, and a hand lightly resting at the back of Len’s neck.

He moaned just as prettily as Len had imagined he would, legs quaking and cheeks growing flush until he finished with a scratch of nail up Len's scalp.

Afterward, they started the movie over, since they had definitely not been paying attention.

 

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

“Leonard!” Ray’s cheerful voice was the first thing Len heard as be came down the escalators into baggage claim.

Central City Airport was busy most weekends but seemed especially flooded today. Not that it deterred Ray Palmer, all 6’2” of him, incorrigible child in an Adonis’ body that he was.

He tackled Len with a hug, whereas Mick went with a briefer one-armed half-hug that Len thought more appropriate when in public surrounded by strangers. Mick was large too, nearly as tall as Ray but even more broad, the both of them like hired muscle or construction workers instead of a nerdy engineer and a writer.

“Why’d you even check a bag?” Mick grumbled as they waited at the carousel for Len's suitcase. “You’re only staying the weekend.”

“I didn’t want to wrinkle my tux. Besides, I have cupcakes I couldn’t bring through security.” Len grinned.

“Cupcakes?” Ray pouted. “You didn’t finish them?”

“Not yours. My new baker friend wanted me to give you some of his so you can tell him what he’s doing wrong. They’re gluten free, and they need work.”

Ray beamed all the way to the hotel, knowing a professional baker wanted tips from him. He’d always said that while baking would only ever be a hobby for him, it was very influential in his engineering and vice versa, because both endeavors required careful planning, precision, and experimentation.

Sitting stationary on the plane had admittedly left Len's hip a bit sore, but it had been a short flight, and once he was out of the car and walking up to his hotel room, he already felt better.

Mick and Ray had offered to let him stay with them—Lisa and their mother had offered the same—but Len wanted his own space. It was a nice room, too, complete with wet bar that Mick was taking advantage of while Len settled in.

“How’s the new play coming along?” he asked.

“Eh.” Mick shrugged as he mixed himself a drink. “Not feeling it yet. Can't figure out what's not clicking. Thought I’d wait to visit you at that beach house til after I finish, but I might need earlier inspiration. Or I just suck at romance.” He tossed in an ice cube a touch too harshly with a splash.

“Impossible.” Ray moved to Mick's side to kiss him.

For once, Len didn't mind their constant displays of affection and sat sprawled comfortably on the sofa. “Writer’s block?”

“He’s been out of sorts ever since this one bad review came in for _Heatwaves_ ,” Ray said as he sat in the other corner.

“The current show? You’ve had dozens of great reviews.”

“Yeah, well, the one bad one pissed me off.” Mick threw in another ice cube.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t hunted the man down.” Ray giggled.

“Who was it?”

“Something…Hunter? Who can remember?”

Mick grunted, proving he likely had the man’s name and home address memorized but was trying to avoid an assault charge. “You too, babe?” he asked Ray with a swirl of his drink.

“Sure. Leonard? Or can you not have anything?”

“In moderation. Tonight, I may need to push that.” Len kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, thinking of all the people from his professional life he was bound to run into later.

Scooting across the sofa to get closer to him, Ray put on his most potent puppy expression. “How are you doing, Leonard? Really?”

Normally, Len hated when Ray got familiar like that, just like he'd been wary of Barry's oozing sympathy, but it didn't feel as strained anymore to be open. “Better than I thought I'd be. Some days more than others though.”

“Hot young piece a tail helps, I bet.” Mick chuckled.

“It does,” Len said with a grin.

“So…” Ray scooted closer yet.

“So what?” Len leaned away from him.

“Tell us about him!”

“What are we, school girls?” Mick snorted.

“Well, Raymond was a girl scout,” Len couldn't resist teasing, and both he and Mick snickered.

“Funny,” Ray said, crossing his arms petulantly. “…And it was Eagle Scout.”

They laughed harder, and before long, Ray was unable to resist twitching with a smile of his own.

After the first few sips of the drinks Mick had made, Len loosened up enough to tell them about Barry. How they met, the physical therapy, Smudge and Nora, all the ways their lives crossed in that small beach town, as well as their successful first date.

He didn’t mention anything about Barry’s parents or his drunken confessions; that was personal, something for Barry to share with people he trusted, not for Len to broadcast.

Besides, the more details he spilled now, the more he’d have to repeat himself when they met his mother for dinner.

Len wouldn't see Lisa until after the show, entrenched as she was in pre-show responsibilities and rituals, but Mother had insisted and would be joining them for the show as well.

When the hour grew late between their drinks and catching up, it was time to get ready. Mick and Ray had brought their tuxes along to change at the hotel. Len’s felt snug once he got into it, but it still fit, thankfully.

“There’s my baby,” Lorna gushed when they arrived at the restaurant— _early_ , but Lorna Abrahamson always beat everyone everywhere.

She was a beautiful woman, all class, in a glittery black evening gown. She'd been a working single mother after kicking Len’s father to the curb over twenty years ago. She'd also been the biggest proponent of Len’s dance career.  

Even though his perfectionism may have come from his father's berating and belittlement throughout childhood, his devotion to dance had been one big middle finger when Lewis Snart’s last words to him were: “Should have known you’d be a queer.”

Ballet had been every part of Len's identity rolled into one perfect profession, and he never once looked back after that. He attributed much of his success to his mother’s support, and he loved that Lisa had followed in his footsteps.

“How are you, sweetheart?” Lorna kissed his cheek after embracing him off the side of the table.

“Old and weak but managing.”

“Oh,” she scoffed, lightly smacking his arm. “What does that make me if you call yourself such things?”

“Gorgeous,” Len said, “eternally and forever.”

With a wave of her hand, Lorna dismissed the compliment, while also preening from it. “You boys always look so handsome together.” She turned to Mick and Ray, hugging them and kissing each of their cheeks as well. Once they were in their seats, she smirked at Len and said, “Why on earth are you having your admittedly ravishing mother at your side tonight instead of some dashing man?”

“Because you insisted,” Len teased. “And because the other option is a plane ride away, but I’m sure he would adore meeting you someday, Mother.”

No use avoiding the topic; Lisa had certainly informed their mother of everything she knew about Barry and Len’s beach town adventures.

“And who is this ‘he’?” she feigned anyway, and the dance began again.

Len retold a few stories and remembered a few he’d forgotten with Mick and Ray, like him and Barry having the same terrible taste in movies. Eventually, conversation moved away from him, and he got to hear more about Mick’s writing woes, Ray’s new contracts for engineering projects, his mother’s volunteer work. He could almost forget where they were headed after dinner, but not so much that he didn’t have a glass of wine.

And then another.

He almost had a third but knew better than to give into the temptation, much as he was happy to be partially buzzed when they finally hit the city streets and walked from the restaurant to the theater.

Len loved this theater, the warm burgundies and brilliant golds of the moldings, the painted ceiling in the main theater that could have rivaled the Sistine Chapel, and especially the split staircases leading up to balcony level from the front, creating an opulent entryway where high society gathered to whisper gossip behind each other’s backs.

Len wanted to see the show, to support Lisa. It was seeing everyone else he wanted to be drunk for.

“Leonard, how are you hanging in there?”

“Managing to keep busy, Mr. Snart?”

“After all these years, what are you doing without dance?”

“Can’t say I’m mad you retired since it gave me a chance to shine.”

The last was Hartley Rathaway, the new choreographer. He was brilliant and knew it and never failed to mention as much. He was also ten years younger than Len.

Like Len had said to his mother, he felt ancient, ten times as old as usual, washed up and useless. It was Wednesday all over again, the exponential decline in his mood like a widening sinkhole in the pit of his stomach, but without the pleasant date night to make up for it later.

“Are you alright, dear?”

Len had gravitated to the wall, as out of the way as possible without blatantly hiding. He longed for the lights to flicker and signal that the show would be starting soon as he nursed a water while deeply contemplating getting a bourbon.

“Sorry, Mother.”

She settled against the wall beside him, people watching in kind. “Tough being back here, isn’t it? But don’t you listen to any of them. You’ll find your place again. It’s just going to take time, like everything does.”

Len knew that, but he wished he had something stronger than a mild buzz or even his mother’s unwavering support to remind him of the good things.  

“Ah, well, maybe this will help,” Lorna said with familiar mischief in her tone. “Lisa mentioned she had a surprise for you, and I think he just walked in.”

Turning in surprise toward the doors, Len didn’t truly believe it could be who he desperately wanted to see right now, but for once he was proven wrong, because there Barry stood in a perfectly fitted tux like he'd manifested out of a dream.

He looked like the temptress from a Bond film—the gay version. If only Len was so lucky as to be Bond.

Then he realized, he _was_.

Len wore his tux well too, though maybe not as well as Barry, all boyish charm with his scruff neatly trimmed to look just the right amount of unkempt. Even if Bond wouldn't have been bothered to suffer a hip injury, Len still felt like 007, waiting for his homme fatale to strike.

“Believe it or not,” Barry said when he reached them, “I even have a ticket.”

“Lisa.”

“Yeah. I got the feeling I couldn’t have said no if I’d wanted to. Not that I did.” His eyes crinkled with how genuine his smile was.

“You were going to look in on Smudge for me.”

“Don’t worry. Cisco has it covered.”

“You look…” Len couldn’t find the right words, certainly not a PG enough version for this venue.

“You too.”

Lorna delicately cleared her throat, waiting to be introduced as she reminded Len of her presence.

“This is my mother, Lorna.” He gestured to her with the grandness she deserved, though he still worried she might scare Barry off.

If Lisa hadn’t, however, maybe that was more difficult than Len would have guessed.

“A pleasure, ma’am.”

“All mine.” Then, as Lorna shook Barry’s hand, she said, “You know, twenty years ago you would have been just Leonard’s type.”

“Mother…” Len sighed.

“Kidding. You are adorable though. Len never brings home nice boys. Not like Mickey with Raymond,” she said as they walked up from making the rounds of theater people Mick had to mingle with.  

“Trust me, Mother, Barry is much better than Raymond.” Len slipped an arm around Barry’s waist to pull him close and to let him know how much it meant to have him here. “Barry, these are my friends.”

“Mick and Ray, sure.” Barry eagerly shook their hands—after Ray had finished glaring at Len—then immediately leaned back into Len's hold, relaxing comfortably there. “Playwright and…the one with the cupcakes! They were incredible.” He dropped his voice to a hush as he added, “Please never tell my brother-in-law I said that.”

It was obvious within only a few minutes how charmed everyone was by Barry just as Len had been, easing the nagging voices in his mind that had been making him feel sorry for himself again.

The lights flickered—time for the show.

It was silly how Len felt nervous even if he wasn't performing or responsible for the direction, but he wanted to see Lisa do well and to not hate being on the outside looking in as much as he feared.

“Is that Frankie?” Barry said after they'd been led to their box seats, with Barry on the end, then Len, his mother, and finally Mick and Ray.

Indeed, Frankie and her parents were across the theater in the other box seats. Len smiled as she waved at them, looking lovely in a magenta dress—and making him wonder if her entire room was that deep pink color. He hadn’t seen her come in and worried they hadn't been able to make it.

“Did you…?” Barry trailed off gaping.

“Never been to a real ballet, she said.” Len shrugged. “Securing extra tickets wasn’t difficult.”

“But plane tickets? Hotel? Her parents have had a lot of expenses lately after the accident.”

Len shrugged again. “I had frequent flier miles and hotel points to spare. Just like Lisa, apparently.”

Barry glanced away with a light chuckle. “Here I was coming to help make it a good night for you, and you’re still surprising me.”

The lights started to come down, Lorna gently squeezing Len’s arm before settling into her seat, not eavesdropping but giving that subtle sign that she liked Barry.

Lowering his voice to a whisper anyway, Len said, “I’m sure there will be opportunities for you to surprise me back.”

“Well…” Barry answered playfully, “Lisa didn’t get me a separate hotel room.”

The heat that flooded Len’s stomach definitely helped his nerves. Even if watching the ballet proved miserable, he had something to look forward to.

Of course, he couldn’t call any of the show miserable. _Don Quixote_ was one of the best and most well-known ballets for a reason—it was breathtaking, and Lisa most of all, even if he was bias thinking that.

She floated, entrancing in every step, conveying emotion in both her face and her body that moved Len more than he was prepared for, combined with the emotions stirring in him over how much he missed this. How what every dancer on that stage could execute so beautifully he would never experience again.

Len didn’t notice the wetness on his cheeks until he felt Barry’s hand slip into his. He looked down at it, their fingers entwining, before glancing up at Barry.

He couldn't help feeling guilty for being so torn up over what he’d lost when he knew how much more Barry had lost even if his pain wasn’t as visible. Still, the comradery in Barry’s expression, letting some of his own sorrow through to let Len know— _I understand_ —alleviated the heaviness of the heartache.

No, Len would never again experience what he once had, but there were new things he might not have opened himself up to if he hadn’t first known loss.

The show culminated in an eruption of applause at the final curtain with very few nitpicks Len would have chided the dancers for if they had been under his direction. Clapping and getting to his feet was what finally pulled his hand from Barry’s since they first connected.

Lisa found Len in the crowd when she took her bow, and he nodded in acknowledgment. His eyes were dry now, his heart sore but full.

The next thought he had was that he hoped Frankie had enjoyed the show, and he soon heard firsthand when they exited back into the lobby.

“That was amazing!” Frankie gushed, hurrying over to hug Len, which he hadn’t expected but allowed, nonetheless. She didn’t have her crutches but seemed to be managing well enough.

“Frances,” her mother chided, but he didn’t mind her bold greeting.

“It’s important to instill good culture in the next generation,” Len said after Frankie had released him and turned to hug Barry too. “I’m glad you were able to make it.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Snart,” her father said, both parents looking honestly grateful.

“A pleasure. Now, should we go monopolize my sister? If you’d like to meet her, that is?” He smiled at Frankie and gestured to the left of the lobby where the dancers had come out in their curtain call outfits to take pictures with the audience. Lisa stood out in a black, red, and gold tutu, adorned with sparkling sequins.

“I can _meet_ her?” Frankie gaped.

After agreement from her parents, Len led Frankie to the cast.

Mick and Ray got pulled away by other theater contacts again, which meant Barry was left with Frankie’s parents and Lorna. Len almost would have worried about his mother’s ability to meddle as badly as Lisa some days, but any time he looked back at the group trailing behind them, Barry, Lorna, or all four were laughing.

“Who’s this now?” Lisa said when it was their turn, bending to address Frankie’s shorter stature. “I thought my brother had a different date tonight.”

“Barry’s back there,” Frankie pointed behind them, and Barry waved with a light chuckle.

“And you are?” Lisa asked again.

“Frankie. You were amazing. Barry does my PT, and Len taught me a few dance steps, and I want to move like you someday,” she said in a rush. “If I can.”

Len saw the moment when Lisa's eyes fell to Frankie’s magenta prosthetic beneath her dress.

She looked at Len with a smile and winked. “Why, Lenny, that reminds me, I don’t think I ever told you about Rosa, one of my fellow ballerinas in Coast City.” She had her cell phone in case she wanted copies of any of the pictures taken and took a moment to scroll through it.

When she found what she was looking for, she turned the phone to show Frankie more than Len, but he could make out the image well enough. There was Lisa in a yellow and orange tutu, beside a blond woman in a matching outfit that he took for Rosa—who had a prosthetic leg.

Len had no idea Lisa had worked with a dancer like that, but he saw Frankie’s eyes light up.

“She twirls so perfectly, they say it’s like the spin of a top. She had to work really hard, but she is a vision in motion. Maybe I can convince her to try out for our company sometime here in Central.”

Frankie was spellbound, positively elated with thoughts of Rosa, and with Lisa right there in front of her. It was that moment, as Len smiled at his sister, that he realized how this, now, filled him with the same feeling he thought he could only experience while dancing or training someone else to dance with equal passion.

It wasn’t the dancing he missed, not only that at least, it was this feeling, something he had a sneaky suspicious Barry had realized all along.

Len didn’t hold up the line. Frankie’s parents wanted to meet Lisa too, Barry wanted to congratulate her, and of course their mother descended in a way that said she would hold up the line as much as she wanted, but it was only after the crowd had dwindled that Len had a moment alone with his sister.

“Be honest. How was it?” she asked.

“Overall, I would have directed it better,” Len said stonily. “Sancho Panza was sluggish.”

“Lenny…”

“You were amazing,” he cracked an honest smile. “I couldn’t have choreographed anything more beautiful, and even if I had, you would have outperformed that as well. You deserve every bit of praise they’re saying. I’m proud of you.”

Lorna may spout those words constantly, but it wasn’t something Len said often. He could see how the phrase startled Lisa.

“Stop, you’ll ruin my eyeliner. Go back to your cradle robbing.” She pushed his shoulder, indicating Barry chatting with Mick and Ray now along with Lorna, since Frankie and her parents had left, Frankie still in a joyous daze that Len was grateful he had been able to give her. “And say hi to Cisco when you see him. He’s coming to the show next weekend.”

Of course he was, though Len couldn’t be anything but happy for her.

And happy for _him_ when he looked over and caught Barry staring at him.

While Lisa went off to change and head to a cast party, Len moved through the emptying lobby toward his friends. He caught a smug look from Rathaway in the corner, but simply smiled back at him and felt a touch of self-satisfaction that Rathaway looked annoyed by his reaction.

“It was good to see you, dear.” Lorna kissed Len’s cheek. “Lunch tomorrow? You’re in town until Sunday, aren’t you? I don’t know when I’ll get out to that beach house, so I need to get in as much mother-son time as I can. Besides, I expect Barry to join us. He’s lovely,” she added as a whisper at Len’s ear.

Lorna could have partied with the best of them, but she said her farewells to call it a night.

Mick, on the other hand, was already loosening his bowtie. “We hittin’ the bars or what?”

There were numerous local establishments near the theater that Len knew well and had frequented over the years, but the one they chose was the Irish pub with hidden nooks for various sized parties where he could sip on whiskey for hours without feeling the need for more than a single glass.

He’d sobered from earlier and wasn’t drinking anymore to drown himself but to celebrate.

They’d claimed one of the nooks that was perfect for four, closed in on three sides like their own private room. Mick mirrored Len with a whiskey, while Barry had a Smithwicks and Ray a Guinness. They’d shoved their ties into their pockets, and all but Len’s suit coat had been removed to pile in the corner, though he did have his unbuttoned.

“Since you know everything about us, how did you two meet?” Barry asked, and Ray nearly spat his beer all over the table.

“We don’t need to tell that story.”

“Aw, come on, babe,” Mick laughed. He loved that story, and Ray loathed it, so Len generally enjoyed hearing it too. “This one,” he tugged Ray against his side, “drunk off his ass and wearing a mesh tanktop of all things comes right over and gives me a lap dance as his opener.”

“You said hello with a lap dance?” Barry nearly spit out his beer too.

“I was _very_ drunk.”

“Mick had just directed his first play on a big stage,” Len said to Barry, enjoying the heat of him close at his hip. “He was still getting his feet wet with writing, nothing of his published yet, but hoping to get playwright in residence one day, and we were celebrating a successful opening night.”

“Which play?”

“ _As You Like It._ I helped choreograph the fight scenes, though that isn’t my forte,” Len added when Barry's eyes lit up. Dancing and fighting were very similar in some respects, and Len had been happy to help his friend in his off hours from performing. “As a joke, we had Oliver and Orlando’s sword props.”

“You could get away with shit like that back then,” Mick said, “as long as you didn’t take it out of its sheath and wave it around like a dumbass. Well, Pretty here,” he leered playfully at his husband, “giant nerd that he is, also has a huge hard-on for knights in shining armor.”

“Legendary heroes,” Ray corrected.

“And he liked the look of my sword, didn’t ya, babe?”

“Mick!”

“Those exact words came out of your mouth, I ain’t making shit up.

 _“If thou remember’st not the slightest folly_  
_That ever love did make thee run into,_  
_Thou hast not loved._

“And speaking of folly,” he flagged down the waiter, “I need another drink.”

Only Mick could quote _As You Like It_ with adoring eyes at his husband then turn to demand another whiskey.

Shakespeare would have approved. 

“Sounds like you guys were pretty wild back then,” Barry said.

“Back then, he says,” Mick huffed. “Don’t think us old guys can’t keep up with the younger crowd. You obviously don’t mind a challenge if you went after Len.”

“He was a challenge,” Barry admitted, eyes darker and enticing in the dim light of the bar, “but I’m patient when something’s worthwhile. Plus, I was a challenge too, though I can’t seem to scare him off.”

“Your dancing might do it,” Len joked.

“I told you I have two left feet!”

Len chuckled. “You have potential, you just need direction.” The warmth of the whiskey coursing through him made it easy to say, “Which you take very well.”

Barry flushed prettily, and from across the table, Mick gave a gruff laugh.

“You are something else, kid. Not too many people can pull out such easy smiles from this old grump. And I get why. Maybe he’ll let us borrow you sometime.”

“Mick!” Ray shouted again, smacking Mick's chest with a scandalized expression.

“You know I don't mean it,” Mick said after another deep chortle. “I only have eyes for you, babe.”

They kissed, practiced and heated in a breath, and Len saw Barry gaze at them in wonder, then flush when he realized Len had caught him.

“Stranger things have happened at my beach house,” he rambled, which took Len a moment to understand.

“Excuse me?”

“Not like _that_ ,” Barry said quickly, now that Len’s head was filled with elicit threesomes, “and you have nothing to worry about, it’s just…Cisco and I made out once after too much tequila.”

Len laughed. Cisco was no threat. Plus, he seemed more the easily bi- _scared_ type than bi-curious.

“Cisco? That the guy Lisa’s been after?” Mick asked with a sly grin. “Oh we’re gonna have fun with him next weekend.”

“Don’t torture him too badly,” Len warned. “I think Lisa actually likes this one.”

“And Cisco adores her,” Barry chimed in. “They’ve talked on the phone almost every night since they met.”

The buzz of the whiskey and other good feelings in Len's belly made it impossible for him to care if his hip was sore from sitting on a plane, then in a theater, and now. He snuggled close to Barry, all his walls dropped, and loved how Barry’s were nowhere in sight either.

“Like I keep saying,” Len purred, “you are a terrible influence.”

The way Barry ran his tongue over his lips drew Len’s eyes right to them. “Does that mean I’d be totally lame if I said I’m ready to call it a night?”

“Only if you fall straight to sleep, doll," Mick said with another laugh, "and we all know that ain’t happening. Go on, we can make our own way home and catch up with you kids tomorrow.”

“We’ll cover the tab.” Ray smiled, having drank significantly more of his beer in a short period after reliving his meet-cute with his husband yet again. “You two have a good time. A good _night_ ,” he tried to correct the obvious innuendo.

“And a good _time_ ,” Mick affirmed.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” Len said, dragging Barry out of the booth, but as they headed off, Mick was already too distracted to answer, crowding Ray into the corner of the nook.

Ray laughed and allowed it, the two of them ever in love and an inspiration Len used to resent, if only a little. Now, he didn’t feel quite so hopeless in the wake of their romance when he had a warm hand in his.

They were only a few blocks from the hotel, perfect to walk on a cool spring night. Barry had already been to the room to drop off his things and change, so his bags were upstairs. Lisa had planned her surprise so that he arrived just as Len and the others were at dinner. 

“This room, by the way, is insane,” Barry said, finally shuttered away together, alone. “How much money do you have from your dance career anyway?”

“Only interested in me for my money, Mr. Allen?”

“Obviously.”

Laughing heartily, Len kicked off his shoes and finally removed his suit coat to toss on a chair.

Barry tossed his coat there too.

“Let’s say I know how to temper myself and save and only indulge when it’s worthwhile. I thought I’d need the pick-me-up of over-indulgence tonight.” Slowly, he met Barry in the center of the living room of the large suite, Barry’s shoes kicked away too, and their hands immediately going for each other’s waists. “Then a much better pick-me-up walked into that lobby.”

“I’m glad,” Barry said, the flush in his cheeks equal parts alcohol, exertion from walking, and anticipation. “Really glad.”

They surged together, Barry’s lips never failing to make Len’s heart flutter—a catch of breath, a thrill of youthful want. Barry might be younger but being with him didn’t make Len feel old. He didn’t feel useless or washed up. He didn’t feel alone.

Pawing at Len’s shirt, Barry started to tug it free from his pants, opening his mouth wider for a deep swirl of his tongue, while long fingers slipped up beneath the fabric and sprawled across Len’s stomach. The pudge was still there, but if Barry liked it, Len wasn’t about to dwell.

He moved his hands in tandem, sliding up the front of Barry’s shirt to get at the buttons. Their kiss was turning more heated quickly, wet and ravenous. Barry even chased after Len’s lower lip with a mild bite when he tried to pull away.

“Tell me…” Len gasped to catch his breath, “what did you mean the other night when you said you have _ideas_ to get around my hip?”

Releasing another mischievous chuckle, Barry grinned.

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any time I have Len purr, I think of you, Meow. 
> 
> Guess what comes next chapter? (or should I say who?)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in the middle of SO many things right now, but I wanted to get this up before I head to Orlando for a week. The next - and final - chapter of this might come a little later, given I'll be gone and mostly busy working and spending time with my husband, but it will still come soon. 
> 
> Thank you all for your kind words. 
> 
> Onto the smut!

“Do you trust me?” Barry asked, sliding his arms around Len’s waist to slip beneath his shirt again, this time finding the skin at his lower back.

Len shivered at the promising touch. He’d had his medication. He’d had a few drinks. Maybe the combination was what kept him in that warm, fuzzy place that felt like anything was possible.

But he still knew he couldn’t straddle Barry’s hips and rock with abandon without pain.

Who better to guide him through this unscathed?

“With my whole body, Doc,” Len said, “and that’s saying a lot.”

The smile that spread across Barry’s face was sweet and roguish at once. He leaned forward to kiss Len, then whispered, “I’m not always used to taking full control, but I’ll need to if this is going to work. Is that okay? No, um…concerns?” He let one hand trail down over the crease of Len’s pants, low between his cheeks.

Len understood and had no problem with Barry leading. “I remain in your capable hands.”

“Good.” Barry bit his lip, and Len wet his in expectation. “Guess the one taking direction tonight is you.” The hand that had slid down Len’s ass came up again, snuck beneath his waistband, and squeezed a naked handful.

Len shivered harder than before, anxious to learn the limits of his hip.

Then Barry’s hand retreated, and he pushed lightly at Len’s chest.

“First order, I'm going to need you to strip, but better lead me to the bedroom, or I might get lost in this place.”

“Yes, sir.” Len chuckled, slowly backing away before turning and starting to unbutton his shirt out of Barry’s view.

Barry had always been bold, but this Len could get used to, even if he still planned to tease a little.

Once he reached the bedroom, he peeked over his shoulder to see Barry right behind him, stopping to lean against the doorframe. This wasn't entirely new territory for them, but they hadn't seen each other completely nude yet.

Again, Len thought of his love handles starting to thicken and hesitated as he was about to drop his shirt.

“Are you worried about the scar?” Barry asked with a patient smile.

On his hip, he meant, but no, Len hadn’t thought of that, and Barry had already seen it. “More so my age showing. And if you say anything about ‘fine wine', we're through.”

Barry laughed, as Len let the shirt fall to the floor. “Plenty of things age well,” he said with a hungry stare. “Whiskey. Stoneware. Cheese. Harrison Ford.”

Now, Len laughed, fumbling with the zipper on his pants.

“Keep going,” Barry said in a husky tone, pushing from the doorframe finally. He had an added confidence in his strut that made Len shudder—and quickly finish removing his pants. “You're older than me, that's fact. The problem is you thinking that makes you less desirable, less interesting, less…everything I want or would ask for.”

As Barry reached him, Len pulled the elastic of his underwear over his growing erection and let them drop down his legs.

Barry bit his lip again, eyes drifting downward. “And I know this might not change how you see yourself, but trust me…you are seriously hot.”

For the first time in a long time, Len believed that. “It helps.”

Barry giggled, his warm, beautiful smile staring back at Len when their eyes met. Then both their eyes fell to each other's lips.

Reaching to grasp Len's jaw, Barry didn't look away until he captured Len’s mouth in a kiss.

The kiss in the other room had felt hurried in its eruption, but this one moved slower, Barry's thumb stroking the skin with each coil of his tongue. As he moved closer into Len's body, his other hand pressed to Len's chest and started to drift down with light fingertips tickling him.

They grazed the pudge of his middle, the groove of his hip—near his scar—and down into coarse hair where they found him weeping and wrapped around him tight.

Len gasped out of the languid liplock, Barry playfully flicking his tongue at Len’s lips as he started to stroke him. Shaking from the attention, Len sought an anchor by twisting his hands in Barry’s shirt, then struggled to undo the last few buttons he found.

Barry had such long fingers, lazily pumping him to full hardness. His mouth had felt amazing the other night, but this was wonderful too and had Len panting in moments.

Once Barry's shirt was open, Len went for his pants, tugging on them to draw Barry closer. Barry squeezed Len tighter in response, slipping his tongue back between Len’s lips and starting to shift them toward the bed.

Definitely the right idea; Len wanted Barry's hands and mouth on every part of him.

“Don't fall backward,” Barry said breathlessly just as Len’s legs hit the mattress. “Scooting up from the end of the bed will rotate your hip too much.”

Len chuckled at the reminder that he was dealing with a medical professional— _his_ medical professional. “So then…?”

“Come on.” Barry pulled away to guide Len around the side of the bed, kissing his lips affectionately once more before he sat him down on the edge. “Pivot like I taught you when going to sleep each night,” he said, backing up and shrugging the shirt from his shoulders.

His toned physique was something to be envious of, but Len didn’t feel like that when he knew he was about to possess that body in other ways.

Part of his physical therapy had been training for simple daily tasks like getting in and out of bed. Sit, scoot back slightly, lift his body around without rotating his hip, and shift over slowly to get into the center of the mattress.

It didn’t feel like a simple daily task with Barry’s eyes on him though, as he removed his pants, then his underwear, all with Len stroking himself slowly through the wetness Barry had evoked.

But when Barry came forward again, Len realized, “I didn't think I was getting lucky this weekend. I don't have…” He gestured helplessly with his free hand.

“I, uhh,” Barry blushed darkly, “…came prepared.” Holding up a finger, he strode away back out the bedroom door to where he’d left his bag, giving Len one hell of a view from behind. Barry’s tan lines along his hips were even more enticing with all of him bare.

After Len had shoved the sheets and comforter down to spread out more comfortably, Barry came back in with the needed supplies, eyes hungry, erection bobbing proudly with his strides.

When he crawled up from the foot of the bed, all tan graceful limbs, Len was reminded of the first day they met and how, even more than Barry’s body, he'd been envious of his ease of motion. He still was. He still missed the freedom of not having to second guess his next step or crouch. But even if there were hard days, and he knew there would be, he was grateful for what he had.

And right now, that was Barry, naked and nudging between his legs.

“I think I need to start with a little body worship,” he said, setting the supplies aside to run his hands up Len’s thighs, “because every single inch of you deserves it.”

“Even the extra inches?” Len half-jokingly pat his stomach.

“Absolutely,” Barry said, bending to press a kiss right beneath Len’s navel. He kissed lower, hands still petting Len’s thighs—lower and around to the side to trail down one leg with a kiss, kiss, _bite_.

Len gulped in a breath. Barry gave each leg equal attention, the parts of Len that had been his tools, his assets, his pride, for most of his life. Then he kissed and nipped up his stomach, hands following in a lazy trail, chest slithering up to graze its skin along Len’s shaft. When Barry got to his neck, he bit a little harder, sucking soothingly in the aftermath, and moved to seal the attention on Len’s lips.

Already trembling, Len thought that might be it for the body worship, eager to thrust up against the friction of Barry’s cock aligned with his, but Barry shifted away to continue down his arms with the same pattern. He suckled each finger, his eyes locked on Len’s, twirling his tongue slow and lewdly before moving from one to another.

Len was visibly shaking now and leaking liberal amounts of pre-come when Barry finally finished and granted mercy with the return of his strong fingers around Len’s shaft. Having been denied direct touch through all those kisses and grazes of teeth, Len bucked up into Barry’s strokes, flush and desperately close and barely able to keep from moving his hips in a way that would hurt.

“Come…come up here,” Len said when Barry didn’t seem to understand that he was about to come any moment and wouldn’t be able to bounce back as easily as, well, _Barry_ might. “Give me a breather before I burst. Climb up…and let me give a little back.” Len grinned, waving Barry up toward his face in a way he hoped conveyed that he didn’t just mean for another kiss.

With a curious grin of his own, Barry obeyed, shifting to straddle Len’s shoulders so that all Len had to do was open wide when Barry lowered himself to his lips.

Len grabbed onto Barry’s ass to hold him there, and an obscene whine sounded from Barry’s throat at the first hard suck and deep-throated hum. Clutching at the curve of the headboard to balance himself and keep from literally sitting on Len’s face, Barry dropped his head back, displaying the lovely length of his neck. He rocked down into Len’s mouth, gently but getting more wound up the longer Len swallowed him down, squeezing his ass possessively through it all.

Len barely remembered the stiches in his left hand, slowly healing, since his mouth was doing all the heavy lifting.

“O-o-o-kay,” Barry stuttered with a matching stutter of his hips before he pulled away. “I won’t last long if you keep that up.”

“I’m keeping everything up.” Len swatted friskily at Barry’s rear, drunk on feeling and affection for this man more than anything he’d drank that night. “Better continue taking advantage, Doc, while that’s still true.”

Barry giggled again, hiding his face as he climbed off Len to snatch up the supplies, as if the teasing was more to flail over than how Len had just been sucking his dick. “You make it sound so illicit.”

“It is.” Len looked at Barry adoringly, still keyed up and ready, though grateful he’d had the break to temper down his orgasm. “The naughty nurse who seduced me.”

“Physical therapist,” Barry chided, which he failed at making sound authoritative since he was rock-hard and tearing open a condom packet.

“When you’re in scrubs, I can think of you as my nurse if I want.”

Barry laughed harder, returning to snuggle close to Len a moment before gently tapping his shoulder. “Since you are my patient, seduced or otherwise, you have to listen to me for your own good.” He punctuated the words by kissing Len. “Now, roll onto your side. It’ll be the best position.”

Len had assumed that would be Barry’s choice, but it still sent a thrill through him thinking of what came next. After stealing another quick kiss of his own, Len rolled as requested—onto the side without the incision site from surgery, so he could settle in comfortably.

The snap of the cap on the lube bottle made him arch back in wait for Barry’s touch. Soon after, the slick slide of a finger teased him with a swirl around the puckered skin between his cheeks, gentle but quick with its first press inside. It slid in easy, and Len’s breath hitched at the come-hither stroke that followed.

The last touch to so intimately caress him had been his own, and before then, he honestly couldn’t say.

He wanted to rock back into those small, initial thrusts, but too much tension or movement made his hip ache as he knew it would. He had to stay still and let Barry do the work, which made it a challenge that, at least tonight, with Barry, he found even more alluring.

Barry’s other hand petted his shoulder or gripped lightly there for leverage, but Len should have expected that, given how long it had been since he had a partner, once a second finger started to stretch inside him, the familiar burn of resistance made him hiss.

“Just relax,” Barry whispered.

“Thought I was,” Len snapped, annoyed that his body was once again rebelling against what he wanted. “It’s been a while, and I…urg,” he groaned in frustration, as another twist of Barry’s fingers made him hiss louder.

“It’s okay,” Barry said as he retracted them. “We’ll go slower, or…we don't even have to do this tonight. We can—”

“I want to,” Len said stubbornly.

“I know. So do I. But I don't want you hissing at me.”

The brief silence that followed was broken by a sharp snicker, which quickly turned into helpless laughter that caused Len to glare over his shoulder.

“I shudder to think what's funny back there.”

“I’m sorry!” Barry assured him through his chuckles. “Shit, I’m sorry. Suddenly, all I could think was… ‘Here kitty, kitty’.” He busted out laughing again, forehead pressing between Len’s shoulder blades.

Remembering that night with Barry’s drunken flirting, Len couldn’t help bursting into laughter too. They laughed so hard together that Len forgot to be annoyed or frustrated at his body. It soothed him further when Barry's laughter dwindled with a parting kiss pressed to the back of his neck.

Barry snuggled closer again, and Len felt him twitch between his legs. Another kiss grazed his neck, as a freshly slickened finger returned to stretch once more inside him.

Maybe it was because of the pause or the laughter, but even when that prodding finger doubled into two, there wasn’t the same burn, and the first truly deep thrust with both made Len moan instead of hiss.

“There we are,” Barry puffed against his neck. “Just needed to make you laugh, huh?”

“Like few can... _Shit_.” It was a good curse, because the more Len sank into the sensations and relaxed, the better each stretch felt.

He could feel Barry teasing the tip of a third finger when Len already felt so full, but that last digit merely danced along the rim while the two inside pushed deeper and deeper, twisting to keep opening him up.

_This_ was how Len remembered it, he’d just needed to let his body get there in its own time.

He haggardly told Barry was fine now, ready, more than prepared, but Barry hushed him and kept on, fucking him slowly with those talented fingers, until Len was panting harder, a mewling puddle on the bed.

“Barry…” he pleaded with a catch in his voice, trembling all over from how close he was getting without any attention on his dick, which was leaking insistent spots of wetness onto the sheets.  

“Okay…” Barry said softly. “Now you're ready.”

_Yes, sir,_ Len thought again, reveling in Barry’s comforting authority. Maybe that was part of what made being with him so easy, because Barry was the only person Len had ever been able to give control to and feel safe, trusting completely in where he’d lead him.

And indeed, he led him to right where Len wanted to be, welcoming the press of Barry’s head, lubed up after rolling on the condom. Fuller than two fingers but not so large as three, Barry pushed in deeper, stretching Len open warmly and at an agonizing pace to gauge his comfort. It almost made Len hiss like before when Barry neared the base, so close to be fully inside him, but then he paused to let Len adjust, and the final push home broke a ragged cry from Len’s throat.

“Okay?”

“Ngnn…yes.”

“Good.”

Pressing another kiss to Len’s neck, Barry slid the hand that had guided him inside Len up around his waist and reached for his weeping erection, stroking once very slowly before he started to rock back and thrust forward, moving his hand in time with the rhythm.

“See…you don't have to move your hips at all like this.”

“I s-s-still…want to,” Len gasped. God, he wanted to pound back against Barry _hard_.

“I know, but I got you.”

He had him from behind, molded against his back, thrusts moving slow and then more powerfully, and finally picking up pace. He had him in front too with the wrap of his fingers, jerking his hand in sync with his hips so Len was surrounded and attended to at every angle without ever having to move.

It felt selfish and wonderful to be that closely held and cared for.

Len struggled to catch his breath, shaking and feeling himself all too quickly building toward an end. Barry read his tells as easily as he did when Len was just his patient, knowing to hasten his strokes and rock more fervently forward.

Barry panted too, warm against Len’s neck, so strong in his care for him, but just as frantic to reach an end. There were no words as his pace quickened more and more, no sound but breath, no cohesive thought in Len’s mind but release, and when it struck, he felt a tingle course all through him.

He spurted over Barry’s fingers and had to rock forward, he _had to_ , just a little to see him through his orgasm. The compulsion made his hip protest slightly, but not enough for him to regret it.

Barry’s fingers, slowing and turning gentler, squeezed one last time as his hips stuttered like they had while hovering over Len’s face, finishing after him with a few quiet whimpers. His forehead rested between Len’s shoulder blades again, then he kissed him there _again_ , and the buzz Len had felt through every moment lingered into the aftermath like a warm blanket draped over him just as Barry still was.

“I am truly grateful…you decided to seduce me,” Len huffed, and Barry laughed.

“Me too. And that when I decided to be stupid…you followed anyway and seduced me back.”

“Well, even when you’re stupid, you are nearly impossible to resist.” Len tilted his head back to coax a kiss from Barry’s lips, and that too was better than anything he thought he could have in this chapter of his life.

They caught their breaths, then Barry disentangled from Len and went to the master bath to clean up, coming back with a dampened cloth to wipe away any remaining traces on Len, though most of the mess had stayed with Barry.

“I feel entirely indulgent letting you do all the work,” Len said, rolled onto his back and lounging contently like a—damn it again— _cat_ , as Barry chucked the cloth back into the bathroom and returned at a pleased prowl.

“Good,” he said, climbing after him with the same casual ease to kiss Len and snuggle beside him. “My new lease on life about not being afraid to take chances does tend to lead to over-indulgence sometimes.”

“At risk of that leading to more visits to Eddie’s bakery and pounds to my midsection, I am up for anything.”

“Still up, are you?” Barry waggled an eyebrow, playful fingers dancing down Len’s chest toward his hips.

“Maybe not _that_ up.” Len laughed, knowing Barry was mostly joking, though that made him want to be playful right back. “At least not until morning. Then how about you sit on my face again and this time I don’t let you get away?”

The flutter of Barry’s eyes away from Len and back up again was déjà vu—a sign Len recognized now as the man Barry had been before they met, more hesitant and unsure of himself, but then the lock of their eyes proved the confident version he was trying to be.

“Tough sell,” Barry teased. “But how about, after that, we work on your morning stretches by getting your ankles over my shoulders so I can return the favor?”

_Shit_. Barry never failed to meet Len challenge for challenge. “I think I can manage that if my physical therapist approves.”

Barry pulled Len closer with a gentle tug at his healthier hip. “I’ve been told I work miracles.”

“It would appear so.” Reaching up delicately, Len stroked Barry’s face, scratching through his soft stubble and staring into those bright green eyes that had first entranced him.

Barry’s playfulness dropped to simple, sweet contentedness, and he hugged Len’s chest before reaching down to pull the covers over them.

They settled in like that, holding each other, not caring that so many lights remained on when there was a master switch on the lamp by the bedside.

“You’re staying the weekend?” Len asked.

“I did bring enough clothes if that’s okay? You show me your stomping grounds, I’ll show you mine?”

“With my luck, we’ll probably run into Oliver and a few of my exes while we’re at it.”

Barry’s chuckle said that Len had nothing to worry about if that proved true. “You’ve definitely jinxed us now. Oliver will totally end up being at whatever breakfast place we go to tomorrow.” He hummed as if thinking about it, and when his eyes found Len’s again, there was a depth of emotion there that made Len feel very vulnerable, though without the usual fear.

“I don’t want to see him,” Barry said, “I came to see you, but even if we did…I never once felt this way about him, and the sad thing was, I didn't realize what I was missing until…” A shock of wetness appeared that Barry blinked from his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to get all…”

“Romantic?” Len said softly.

“Just not…so soon.”

With his arm around Barry’s shoulders, Len grazed his thumb along the skin. Intimacy had never been his strong suit. And yet… “Doesn’t feel too soon, just feels like what it is. You make this all…not easy,” Len said, looking down at his hip, “but possible. And I didn’t think anyone could do that.”

Barry breathed in sharply, but he was smiling when Len looked up. “I think that’s the sweetest thing any patient has ever said to me. Especially while I’m in bed with them.”

Len laughed, and Barry laughed with him, and in the end, they sought each other’s mouths again to kiss soft and slow.

“I’m still sorry about that night on the beach,” Barry whispered while they were wrapped up close, “but I'm also glad. I'm glad you know my bad parts, my tragic parts, and that you didn't mind seeing them.”

“I can say the same. I will likely reveal my inner asshole again someday.”

“And I might get scared and act like an idiot again. But…”

“We can deal with that as it comes.”

“Exactly.” Shifting to rest his head on Len’s shoulder, Barry said with a tired humor, “Tell me another story about you, Mick, and Ray in your wild younger days.”

Len would have laughed once more if he wasn’t mildly affronted—very mildly. “That story was about Ray’s mesh tank top and inappropriate introduction. We merely had sword props. Now, if you want a story about me in a mesh tank top…”

“Seriously?”

“It was the 90s, hush,” Len said like that was explanation enough.

“I'm all ears.”

In that case, since Len was content with Barry in his arms, he regaled him with every story he could think of—his first audition when Mick got him obscenely drunk afterward, Mick and Ray's joint bachelor party that somehow ended on a boat and to this day none of them knew how, even the time Len went home with a man dressed as a hotdog from a costume party and didn't find out until morning that it was a dancer from his same company—until neither of them could keep their eyes open, and they finally fell asleep.

 

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. 
> 
> I am sort of going crazy trying to finish this WHILE working on edits to send an original version of it to my publisher be the end of next week. 
> 
> Yes, I know I'm nuts, but it's going really well. I'm actually making several additions/changes, and possibly going to include Oliver in the adaptation, it just hadn't worked in the midst of the fic version. It won't be much, just a passing appearance if I do it. 
> 
> Anyway, stay tuned. If all goes well, I'll get this into my publisher AND try my hand at ColdFlash week coming up. Phew!
> 
> Onward!

Len stared at the pictures on Barry’s end table in the living room. Despite how close they’d grown since they met, this was the first time he’d been inside Barry's house.

The newest photos on display were of Barry and Iris with an older gentleman, who Len took for Doctor West given his resemblance to Iris. There was also a photo of a couple that Barry had clearly gotten a combination of his features from—eyes from his mother, smile from his father. His _parents_ —before the accident, when his mother died, and his father was left needing fulltime care.

A second photo of them included young Barry, who had the same smile as he did now, the same bright spark of life in him that was so infectious. Sometimes, adult Barry had trouble believing in that brightness no matter how much he pushed to instill it in others, but he was trying, something Len finally felt like he could do too.

“Good looking couple, right?” Barry said, startling Len with his reappearance from the kitchen. He carried a platter of chips and crackers to bring outside, along with a 6-pack of beer. Len had meant to follow him and help until he got distracted by the displayed memories.

He took the 6-pack from Barry now. “You had to get your looks from somewhere,” he said, meaning the sentiment, however teasing in tone. “They seem like they were really happy, Barry. You too.”

“We were.” Barry gazed fondly at the photos, not quite as sad as Len would have expected, more contemplative and resigned. “We were happy, and I had them taken away from me. You had a father you would have been better off without and removed him from your life because you wanted him gone.

“Either way, it seems unfair. I know even for people who have happy families and get to keep them, everyone has personal tragedies. I see plenty every day…” He trailed off, then took a breath and shifted his gaze back to Len. “Just means we have to try harder to make the most of what we have. And be thankful…for what we have…”—he leaned closer, a playful twitch at his lips—“when what we have is truly wonderful,” and kissed Len.

Len melted into the tender touch, allowing the faint parting of lips and flick of their tongues. “Smooth talker.”

“Got you into bed, didn’t it?”

Len snorted, pulling back to shake his head at Barry. He had gotten him into bed more than once now since it was the following weekend after the ballet, and this time, Len was joining Barry’s bonfire. “Are you saying we should bring these snacks back into the kitchen and tell everyone else to go home?”

“Tempting… But Iris would never forgive me. Later,” Barry said, kissing Len once more, slow and promising, before he led them toward the patio door. “Just because you live next door, doesn’t mean you have to go home when everyone leaves.”

 _Imp_ , Len thought, following Barry with a pleasant flutter in his stomach that he’d felt from day one, but it was much better now that he’d given in to the unexpected disruption in his life.

There hadn’t been much to disrupt, just a path laid out that included warmth he’d often been missing that went far beyond a bonfire on the beach.

The fire was nice though, with spring rapidly turning into summer, friends gathered near the water’s wedge for food and booze and good conversation. Len was back to being careful with his alcohol, never more than a drink or two since his medication would be long-term for several more months, but a beer on the beach with company wasn’t as loathsome as he’d feared that first day when a volleyball rolled in front of his chair.

“Glad to have you with us,” Eddie said to him. The crew was all couples—Eddie and Iris, Caitlin and Ronnie, Len and Barry—except for Cisco, who didn’t seem bothered by being the seventh wheel when he had a plane to catch in the morning to see Lisa’s ballet tomorrow night.

“I guess Mick and Ray are picking me up?” he said like a question to Len beside him.

“My condolences.” Len grinned.

“Dude,” Cisco whined, “I thought _you_ were scary. If you’re the easy one, I am so screwed.”

“I’m scary?”

“W-well…not after I got to know you!”

The others chuckled, Barry especially, though it was Iris who said, “The only thing scary about you, Len, is your terrible taste in snacks.” She indicated the can of spray cheese by his chair that he lifted to cover the surface of a cracker. “We have real cheese, you know.”

“My dear,” Len said loftily, “if I’m going to indulge, then I am going to indulge thoroughly,” and popped the cracker into his mouth with a crunch.

“Bet that's not the first time you've heard that,” Eddie muttered near Barry’s shoulder, who laughed and pushed him away hard enough that his chair nearly toppled the other direction.

Len didn't deny a thing.

His phone buzzed amidst the others' tittering, and like many of the messages he’d received lately, this was from Ray, mentioning he was looking for engineering projects in the area as an excuse to visit, partially because Mick was planning a beach getaway sooner rather than later to beat his writer’s block.

“Speaking of indulgences,” Len said, “you’re all in trouble once my friends stay longer than a weekend. Mick might even be coming back with you on the same flight,” he said to Cisco, “and Ray isn’t far behind.”

“Ray’s the safe one, right?” Cisco asked cautiously.

“Safe is not the word I’d choose, but you’ll get along. It’s more your liver you should worry about and the epic ways they’ll make you blush.”

Cisco promptly blushed simply from imagining those scenarios.

He was doomed.

“Neither of them has much filter. Or tact. Or—”

“Len,” Barry stopped him, “quit it, they’re great. Your mother is too.”

The fact that Barry honestly believed that further solidified how doomed Len had been first.

“I know I’m looking forward to meeting Ray,” Eddie said. “His tips on gluten free cupcakes were lifesavers. I think I’ll have some ready for taste-testing soon. Any volunte—?”

Everyone raised their hands before he could finish, and Iris batted at Caitlin’s beside her as if to beat out the competition.

They were a good group, friendly and open, without any judgment or expectations. Maybe that’s what Len had been missing for so many years, even while dancing—more people in his life besides his mother, sister, and best friends who didn’t judge the way his father had.

“Mick’s writing a new play, right?” Barry turned to Len, beaming bright and beautiful beside him with the firelight flickering across his face.

Len had had an idea he ran past Mick just the other night. “He’s been having trouble, so I mentioned an idea of mine we’re thinking of doing. Together.”

“ _You_ write?”

“No,” Len shot that idea down quickly. He could visualize storytelling masterfully, it’s what made him such a great choreographer, but that was manipulating other’s words or telling a story in motion. “I may have whispered an idea in his ear a time or two, and I am certainly a better director, but he’s the brilliant playwright. It would be a collaboration with him at the forefront. We were thinking we might test it out on an audience here instead of in the city.”

“Community theater?” Caitlin asked, making Len cringe, but he couldn’t deny it.

“That does seem to be where we’re headed. If it makes it big in the city afterward, I promise, it won’t prompt me to move back.” He looked at Barry pointedly, and as he sipped from his beer and dropped his free hand between them, he felt Barry’s fingers clasp tightly with his.

“Well? Don’t hold us in suspense,” Barry said. “What’s the play about?”

Now, Len had to glance away, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. “Mick’s specialty is romance. He likes adventure and sci-fi, but at his core, he strives to recreate something of his own love story again and again. Says it reinvigorates his love for his husband.”

“How sweet,” Caitlin said, snuggling closer to Ronnie beside her. Iris and Eddie drew closer too, while Cisco wore an adoring, eager expression that maybe one day he’d have his own someone to snuggle. 

“Knowing that, I suggested something unique, an idea to give the mobility challenged the chance to shine, where the main character… can no longer dance like he used to and secludes himself to cope with the loss, only to be seduced and drawn out of hiding by a handsome stranger.”

The group went quiet, just the crackling of the fire making Len fear he’d gone too far, but when he looked at Barry, though his expression was awash in surprise, he seemed honestly touched.

“Are you serious?”

“Write what you know, they say. If you don’t mind being the inspiration?”

“Of course not.” Barry gripped Len’s hand tighter, lighting up in a blinding smile. “That sounds amazing. I can’t wait to read it. And see it!”

Len had hoped Barry would appreciate the idea, but it was still so new, something he and Mick had only just discussed. He hadn’t been sure how to bring it up.

“How does it end?” Iris asked with her bewitching smile that reminded Len so often of Lisa—which was probably what made him like her so much.

“Still figuring that out,” Len said, looking around the fire, then finally back at Barry, “but so far, so good.”

In that moment, the shadows behind Barry’s eyes that crept up from time to time seemed far, far away.

“Okay, but like…are we talking hardcore hazing with Mick and Ray or…”

“Cisco, you’ll be fine. Now, come on.” Barry motioned to the guitar in Cisco’s lap, which he’d been strumming off and on throughout the evening. “Play us something.”

Lisa would love the musical side of him, though she probably already knew given how much they’d been talking on the phone.

Len still had Barry’s hand in his. They had to release their grip whenever he switched from drinking to covering another cracker in spray cheese—he needed two hands for that—but they always found each other again.

“I need requests, man,” Cisco protested.

“Not ‘Kumbaya’,” Len said.

“Or ‘Wonderwall’,” Ronnie added with a grimace.

Cisco looked particularly offended by that one, but after a moment, he smiled and started to play.

The age gap between Len and Barry and his friends didn’t feel as apparent when Cisco strummed his way into a lovely rendition of “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses.

 _Fitting_ , he thought, for him and Barry, a song about taking things slow.

Sometimes, he still worried he’d screw things up, but he knew Barry had similar fears, and somehow that made it easier to believe they could overcome whatever hurdles lay in their future.

 

XXXXX

 

Len could see the sadness on Frankie’s face that today would be her last scheduled physical therapy session, something he never would have expected she’d pout over all those months ago when they met.

“You’ll still need to come back for check-ups,” Barry said. “Or if anything’s ever bothering you. Seriously, any time, you can always—”

“You remember you are literally riding with us to the studio?” Len broke in. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t still see each other several times a week.

“I know,” she scowled at Len, “but that's with the whole class.”

Meaning she was losing her one-on-one time with them, not that she minded being able to move almost as fluidly as she had before the accident.

Frankie was Len’s star pupil in the mixed dance class he’d started in conjunction with the health center and local—and admittedly tiny—ballet studio. The class catered to anyone from preteen to adult but was specific to those with mobility issues. Barry's idea, though seeing _Don Quixote_ had inspired Len too, as well as learning about Lisa’s ballerina friend with a prosthetic leg.

Rosa was coming into town next week as a favor to guest teach before their mid-season performance. Frankie was beside herself with excitement—not that she looked it now.

“If you get cast in my play during next week’s auditions, you won't believe how sick of me you'll get,” Len said, “but don't expect special treatment.”

“I won't need special treatment.”

“No? Then stop being a baby.”

“Len!” Barry chided.

“Otherwise,” Len continued leadingly, “how can we possibly let you have any of the cake we brought to celebrate you being rid of this place?”

“…Cake?” Frankie’s mouth had opened in challenge until she caught up to what he'd said. Now, she looked around the room in suspicion, pout successfully smoothed. “Really?”

“With the words: Congrats on starting off on the right _foot_.”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke about a good pun. It’s in the break room fridge right now, but you’re not getting any until you show me you can perform the routine without a single wobble. Deal?”

Len’s dance class consisted of six students, including Frankie with her prosthetic leg, a teenager with meromelia in both feet, a seventy-five-year old woman who’d recently had hip surgery like Len, a young man in his 20s with spina bifida on two hand-crutches, a middle aged gentleman with MS in a wheelchair, and a young vet who’d sustained a brain injury and had chronic trouble with balance.

They were an odd mix, which forced Len to think outside the box not only for what was possible for each of them, but how they could dance together. He’d focused more on modern dance than ballet, a medley of vignettes for their upcoming performance combining suggestions from everyone in the class.

Frankie was the center point of the final section; an adaptation from Len’s favorite scene in _The Nutcracker_ , per her request.

The battle of the Mouse King.

Frankie was meant to go into a spin at the end using her prosthetic, which was difficult to come out of without falling, so she needed to purposely let herself fall—right into the arms of the Mouse King himself, played by the boy with meromelia. The feint was a ruse to catch the Mouse King off guard for the killing blow, which Frankie had said:

“Isn't very heroic.”

“Heroes don't have to be pushovers; they just have to remember mercy, kindness, and forgiveness. Now, quit wasting my time and try again.”

Len ordered Frankie around the same way today, him being the stand-in for the Mouse King.

Frankie squared herself for the opening moves, a natural dancer, artificial leg or not. Len understood why she loved it so much, because when she lost herself in the motion, she got that _look_ that reminded him of why he loved teaching—when his students were manageable and respected his methods.

Seamlessly flowing between twists and turns, Frankie let her real leg do most of the anchoring, while spring-boarding off her prosthetic where it made sense. The Mouse King in this part mirrored her like a reflection, backwards but in synch until she finally pushed off into a rapid twirl on the tips of her prosthetic toes, and as the spin ended, she needed to trust fall for Len to catch her.

In previous rehearsals, she’d always hesitated and stumbled away on her good leg, afraid to fall. Now, she did the move with confidence, and Len dipped her after catching her, before she pulled up and pushed away from him to spin away on both feet.

“Good. Do that in class tonight, and you can have all the cake you want. Otherwise, the leftovers belong to me and Barry.”

Frankie pouted again, but he could tell she knew when he was ribbing in good faith. It was the only reason he pushed her so hard; because he knew she could handle it.

So far, the rest of the class could too.

“Better hurry before anyone finds that cake,” Barry said, leading them out of the workout room, to which Frankie all but sprinted ahead of him.  

“Are we sharing with the whole class or digging in now?” Len asked, leaning in the doorway once they reached the break room and Barry carefully revealed the cake under Frankie’s scrutiny.

It really did say: Congrats on starting off on the right foot.

“Guess I better do the heroic thing,” she said after getting a look at the magenta buttercream, “but I get biggest piece, right?”

“For saving the world from the Mouse King?” Barry said dramatically. “Absolutely.”

They gathered their things—and the cake—and prepared to head to the studio.

“Bye, Betsy! Bye, Caitlin!” Barry waved as they passed into the waiting room.

Betsy barely looked up from her computer, but Caitlin came out from behind the counter.

“Have fun tonight, you guys. Oh, and Barry? Ronnie said to remind you about replacing your windshield wipers?”

“Oh shoot, that’s right, I was supposed to do that tonight. It’ll take five minutes, Len—”

“We’ll have time after,” Len interrupted.

They didn’t only have Frankie’s final appointment to celebrate, but the anniversary of their first date (after the initial failed one and Barry’s drunken beach frolic).

Four months and counting.

Barry was also part of Len's class, mostly as his body-double for moves he could no longer show, and for his skills as a medical professional should anyone have trouble. Up to now, while a few times one or more students had ended up on the floor, no one had suffered lasting damage, only laughter.  

Len didn’t need physical therapy himself that often, only once a week now when added to his twice-a-week dance class. Teaching didn’t pay much, but that had never been what he was looking for when debating options for his retirement.

Money he had; now, he wanted purpose, direction, fulfillment, and he’d found it in ways he honestly loved, maybe more than he’d ever loved the high-profile stress of ballet in the city.

Len was admittedly more distracted during class than usual tonight, thinking of his date, but with another week to go and Rosa coming in for final dress rehearsals, he knew the class would be ready. The show wouldn’t be up to Central City standards—Rathaway would turn up his nose for sure—but Len didn’t care. It was miraculous what his students could do, regardless of limitations.

“You are amazing with them, Len. With all of them,” Barry said later, on their way to Firestorm Garage. “You amaze me. Every day.”

“You must be easily impressed.”

Barry laughed and smacked him in the shoulder.  

“Thank you,” Len said seriously. “Not only for the compliment, but for the suggestion to do this in the first place. I got so used to expecting perfect… I forgot that sometimes the best things don’t have to be. I mean, you certainly aren’t.”

“Asshole.” Barry laughed again.

“Never denied it.”

“No, you didn’t.” As he shifted into PARK, still chuckling, he looked at Len across the car with the same seriousness while never losing his smile. “A year ago, I was the opposite, always settling, always afraid to push for more than I thought I deserved, afraid of losing what I had.

“Sometimes, it’s okay to strive for perfect, to believe you’re worth perfect, we just have different ideas of what perfect means.” He reached over and took Len’s hand, squeezing it between them.

“I’m not perfect, Barry.”

“You’re perfect for me by being enough for you.”

Len’s breath caught at the sentiment. His father had never followed that philosophy. None of his former lovers had. All the failed relationships in his past had expected more of him, expected him to change somehow, but Barry took him as he was.

“There you go again with that undue wisdom,” Len said softly.

“Well,” Barry said with adoration in his eyes, “one of us has to have some,” and grinned cheekily before pulling away to escape the car rather that steal a kiss like Len expected. “Come on, we have a million things to do yet, and I’m looking forward to getting you home.”

 _Home_. They defaulted to Len’s house most nights if one of them was staying over, which was happening more and more frequent lately. Nora could go anywhere, but Smudge was more confined to his space, so it made sense to end up at Len’s.

And since it had been the location of their first date, it was fitting tonight.

Heading into the garage was Len’s daily reminder that he was in the smallest town possible, since everywhere they went, he saw someone that he, Barry, or both knew.

Ronnie at the body shop, who helped Barry replace his wipers for the rainy season and invited them over for dinner sometime soon on behalf of him and Caitlin.

Eddie at the bakery when they stopped to pick up cupcakes for dessert—even though they’d gotten Frankie’s cake there earlier.

“I didn’t think of it then,” Barry defended.

“We had cake.”

“A snack and dessert are two separate things.”

Barry was bad for Len’s self-control, not that he hadn’t known that from day one. He’d been good lately though, getting into a solid routine that left him maybe five pounds heavier than his choreographer days, but he could live with that.

Naturally, Iris arrived at the bakery before they could leave.

“Happy coincidence running into you two.”

“Hardly. You forget your husband’s motto,” Len said. “There are no coincidences. Though I think I’ll be taking my small miracles to go.” He held up the cupcake box but didn’t hide that he meant Barry more.

“And what are you two up to tonight?”

“The usual.”

“Dinner,” Barry supplied, “bad action movie—”

“Debauchery,” Len said.

“Sounds inspiring.” Iris chuckled, turning to Eddie with a wink, whose pale complexion darkened behind the counter. “Have fun. And happy anniversary.”

They almost made it home without another incident but stopped for a bottle of wine at the grocery store and ran into Cisco and Lisa shopping for their own date night.

Lisa was on break between spring and winter ballet seasons—and hadn’t stayed with Len a single night.

“Meet at the bakery for breakfast?” she suggested when they parted.

“Coffee. Maybe,” Len said. “I’m about to be Small Miracled out.”

Home should have been the one place they could be safe.

“Hey, Lenny!” Mick called from the beach as Len opened the sliding glass doors to let in the evening air.

Mick and Ray were walking the beach, having rented Mrs. Thompkins’ house next door for the fall. Ray had a few jobs in town, though he still traveled back to the city often, and Mick had setup shop earlier to finish the new play.

 _Interpretive Hearts_ started casting next week.

Len thought the title a little cheesy, but he bowed to Mick’s experience.

“Hey, Len!” Ray called in kind, twice as jubilant.

“Hi, guys!” Barry came up behind Len to wave back.

“If they come over,” Len muttered, “we are not letting them in.”

“Aww, it’s nice having them as neighbors. Imagine if they were staying in your guest room.”

Len blanched. “Touché.”

Mick and Ray did not come over but continued down the beach, leaving Len and Barry to make dinner and finally start enjoying their anniversary alone.

Even when the others returned to the city, Len knew their presence here would become a regular occurrence. Deep down, he was glad, not that he planned to tell them that.

Even his mother was considering a change, despite never having lived anywhere but the city. If she moved out to the beach too, it would all be over.

He almost looked forward to it.

A glass of wine, dinner, a cupcake, Mark Wahlberg’s ‘98 flick _The Big Hit_ about a socially anxious hitman—it was perfect, though the most perfect moment may have been when Barry, clearing away the dishes later, hummed to himself while miming dance moves from Len’s class.

Although it was vying for most perfect moment against Barry’s hand slipping into Len’s pants during the movie credits, mouth latching hot on his neck, with neither of them getting up from the sofa or removing all their clothing before they’d finished panting and writhing on the cushions.

Hard call, but the best moment was definitely either the dancing or debauchery.

Afterward, they lay on Len’s beach chair under the stairs, a little squished together to both fit, but Len’s hip didn’t protest.

“I think my dancing’s improving,” Barry said, head on Len’s shoulder, hands entwined.

“Mm,” Len hummed, “you could almost be presentable one day, if I dedicated an entire class to you.”

“Jerk!” Barry bit lightly at his shoulder.

“Even Marvin dances circles around you.”

“Marvin can literally do circles in his wheelchair, that’s cheating!”

Len laughed and snuggled Barry closer to him, realizing as he did how much they’d come full circle, having started right there in his beach chair the day they met, and later that same night when Barry carried Len inside.

Even Nora diving into the sand was the same, though Smudge was a welcome addition, sitting on a towel Barry had set on the sand to coax him from the porch. So far, it wasn’t working, no matter how much Nora darted back and forth in front of him, trying to get him to come out and play.

Fighting out of Len’s hold, Barry chuckled with a mixture of tiredness and contentment at Len and their pets. His smile turned mischievous as he looked at their parody selves in Nora and Smudge and suddenly clasped Len’s wrist like he planned to yank him into the sand.

“You will seriously injure me if you do what you’re thinking.”

“I know. That’s why you’re going to come willingly.” Barry gave a gentle tug but waited for Len to get up on his own.

Skeptically, Len did, following where Barry led him, off the porch and onto the beach. Nora followed a pace or two but, seeing that Smudge was still on his towel, she eventually trotted back to her friend.

Barry’s hold on Len eventually moved to clasp his hand, and they continued down to the water’s edge, which had an ethereal, silver sheen to it at night that Len had always found calming, even if he rarely went this close to the water, let alone into it.

“I don’t usually go _in_ the water,” he said when Barry, barefoot like him, tried leading him into the lapping waves.

“I’ve noticed. You realize you live in a beach house, right?”

“I’m aware, but—”

“But you’re a cat, I know.” Barry grinned, the crease of his dimples that much more pronounced with how much he wanted to finish that thought.

 “Don’t say it,” Len warned.

Barry snickered but left the inherent ‘here, kitty, kitty’ unsaid. “We won’t get our clothes wet. Come on. Just a little further. Have I steered you astray so far?”

“Amazingly… no.”

“Though swimming would do wonders for your—”

“Don’t push it.”

Lifting their hands, Barry kissed the back of Len’s, then tugged him along, and this time Len allowed himself to get dragged into the surf.

The water was cool with the sun set but still pleasant at the end of summer. It swirled around their ankles and a little up their calves until Barry stopped their trek and pulled Len closer to wrap his arms around his waist.

Stars above, water rocking gently against them, the quiet of no one else out on the beach tonight, and the light from the house illuminating Nora and Smudge back by the porch made Len wonder if this moment was more perfect than dancing or debauchery.

It was hard to get used to the idea that perfect could be improved upon.

They danced together somewhat now, in the dark, in the water, swaying with the waves and holding each other close. Barry’s eyes, although shadowed with so little light around them, still managed to look green.

A bark stole Len’s attention back to where Smudge had finally pounced off his towel to tackle Nora, something the cat seemed to immediately regret, as he froze once his paws dug deeper into the sand and leapt back onto the towel with a shake of his fur.

Len and Barry laughed, especially since Nora laid down in the sand, sulking that her success had been so short-lived.

Pulling Len closer against him, Barry drew his attention back with a slow kiss, light at first and then deeper when he tilted his head and glided their tongues together.

“You know… I could almost go for round two, right here in the surf,” Barry whispered against Len’s lips. “Throw you down and roll around in the sand like _From Here to Eternity_.”

“Careful, Doc,” Len said, because as enticing as that sounded, the reality of water and sand all over him was not appealing, “I’m old and fragile.”

“You are neither of those things,” Barry said, echoing another important night. He kissed Len again, slower, deeper, and held tight to his lower back as he crushed their bodies together, and Len felt them both stir to arousal.

 “I suppose I could be up for washing off this sand in the shower,” Len said breathlessly, growing harder just from the thought.

Barry’s smile was even more beautiful when Len had the rest of his body wrapped around him. “That sounds like the perfect end to a perfect night. Aren’t you glad Nora covered you in sand that day so I could get you to dig your toes in it now?”

“You know,” Len said simply, “I am.”

A few more kisses and straying hands later, and they headed out of the surf to return to their pets.  

Maybe Len didn’t hate the beach as much as he used to.

But he still couldn’t wait to get the sand off his feet.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all. Thank you for your support.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


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